Missing
by deawysams
Summary: AU. When John Winchester fails to return from a routine hunt, his friends Caleb and Jim spring into action. When the results are not what they expected, it is up to them to forge ahead, and raise his two sons in the face of unthinkable tragedy. Underneath the heartache, hope lies just beneath the surface
1. Chapter 1

**Missing**

1\. Chapter 1

 _Blue Earth, Minnesota. 1984_

Patience was a virtue, but it was an emotion best suited for the mentally sound. Right then, pacing in his study, fingers working hard while he worked through his address book, that was not Jim Murphy, pastor of Blue Earth Community Church, who spent his free time hunting the things that went bump in the night.

It was through this shared connection with hunting the supernatural evil in the world, that he first made connection with John Winchester. The subject of his current state of deep stress and frustration. The elder hunter knew enough to know that his friend was not experienced in the life to do what he had set out to do, and now his fears were being confirmed.

" _Come on, John_ ," he murmured irritably, surrounded at his own tone of voice. It was not like him to communicate in anything but a soft, kinder tone of voice, unless he was in the throes of exercising a demon from some poor soul.

Over the last few months since they first made contact, Jim had tried to impart as much knowledge as he could to John, but he wondered how much of his wisdom and philosophy regarding hunting, had really stuck with the man who was bound and determined to find the thing that killed his wife. Jim understood the zeal to avenge the thing that killed his family, but he had much more serious concerns for the novice hunter.

Sighing, he glanced at the clock that was mounted on the study wall, and hesitantly picked up the phone. Bobby Singer would was his first call to assist him in figuring out the mystery of where John was. The rough and gruff hunter would not be thrilled with being woken up so suddenly, but Jim had no choice.

It only took a few seconds at most for the hunter to pick up the phone, heaving an exasperated groan at the beginning of his sentence: " _Who the hell is calling this late? Do you know what time it is here-"_ Bobby demanded, not entirely surprising Jim with his attitude. Bobby was, in many ways, a character to be friends with.

"Bobby?" Jim's voice practically sagged in relief. "Look, I'm sorry to interrupt you, but we have a major situation on our hands that I need you in." That was the understatement of the century as far as the pastor was concerned, but Bobby didn't know that yet.

" _What_ situation?" Bobby demanded, clearly thinking the pastor was overreacting. Even though they had hunted together before, and both possessed excellent skill, they often relied on the other before anyone else.

Jim knew he only had to announce one word: "John."

There was an audible silence on the other end of the line. It was punctuated by the low sigh from Bobby, and the curse word that soon followed that sigh. Like Jim Murphy, Bobby was well aware of the novice hunter's tendency to jump into jobs he had no business messing with. Jim waited while he got up, and he could hear Bobby grab his shoes, before a thick journal was slammed on the table. It was funny to Jim that he knew what Bobby was doing without being told.

" _What did that_ idiot _get himself into this time?"_

Jim shook his head, pinching the bridge between his nose and head. "It was a hunt." Thinking back to the conversation they had before he went, Jim could not help but feel just a tiny smidgen of guilt course through him. "I was helping him follow up on some leads. He decided the pattern fit on one in Dallas, and he took off."

Bobby swore again, slamming his journal down. _"What was he hunting?"_ The unspoken anger was thick in the air. They both knew the inexperience John possessed, and over eagerness he had. Combined, the two of those things could be deadly.

"It was something simple. Something in and out."

" _A poltergeist?"_

Jim shook his head. "A simple haunting." In his line of work, he had classified the simpler haunting job, from the more difficult ones that required more work on their end.

While the details of the hunt had been scarce at best, the haunting was supposed to center around a highway near Dallas, Texas. A spirit had been haunting Route 99 for the past several decades, killing any young males that were unfortunate enough to have crossed its path. Jim had been unable to take the job, and so had passed it on to John. A decision he was regretting.

Jim could hear pages rustle on Bobby's end. _"Does he realize that he can't just jump into any old hunt without backup?"_

Jim sighed. "It was partly my fault, Bobby, if we're going down that road. I told him about it. I couldn't take it because I was watching the boys, and I had other commitments." He should have known better than to advocate John going anywhere close to this without proper backup.

" _Well,"_ Bobby scoffed, _"he should have had the guts to tell you you were being an idiot!"_

Jim smiled in spite of his growing fear and unease. Leave it to Bobby to make some offhand comment to lighten the load a little. "Thanks for that."

" _Who else have you called? Anyone?"_

Jim shook his head, even though Bobby had no way of seeing him. "No one else yet. I was just about to call Caleb, see if he heard anything from him."

The younger hunter had only been in the game a few years over John, but he had still proven himself to be a capable and skilled hunter who was good in a tight spot, and who possessed a rare heart that Jim seldom saw in hunting circles anymore. It was those qualities that first appealed him to Caleb when he helped him through his first foray into hunting.

Caleb had also been the voice of reason to John when the hunter proposed leaving his children in a seedy motel room instead of taking the time to drive them to Minnesota. It was the fact that John had two young sons who depended on him for everything, that was proving to be the hardest thing for Jim to overcome. John would never _not_ check up on his sons when they were out of his sight. Not hearing from him in so many days, was deeply troubling.

" _Call him,"_ Bobby affirmed. _"He might know something, or at least he'll come up with a plan of some sort."_ Caleb was good with figuring out action plans, and had even helped Bobby on some sticky spots.

Jim sighed, as he ran a hand down his tired face. He almost felt like an overworked secretary as he once again grabbed his address book, and flipped through the pages to Caleb Rivers' number in Texas. As much as the prideful part of him might want to handle this himself, he knew he needed serious backup with something of this magnitude.

Circling Caleb's number with his red pen he normally used for hunting, he was about to pick up the phone on his desk, when he heard the soft _pitter-patter_ of little feet that should not have been out of bed. Discreetly slipping the address book into his locked study drawer, the pastor stood up and walked the short distance to the staircase, where a small figure stood, illuminated by a much larger shadow.

"Uncle Jim?" Five-year-old Dean Winchester was standing at the very bottom step, his small hand wrapped around the railing. His soft, but intense eyes, landed on Jim's with a surprising intensity for a small child. It was times like this that made Jim realize that Dean was wise beyond his years. "Where's Daddy?"

Jim sighed as he forced himself to look into Dean's expectant gaze. There was no way that he wanted to burden Dean with the knowledge that he might be faced with losing both of his parents. The prospect of that was simply too horrible for the pastor to contemplate without hard proof. Realizing that he still had to respond to the quiet child before him, Jim knelt down and gently took Dean's hand, before standing up.

"You know that Daddy had to go on a very important job, right?"

Dean nodded; it amazed Jim how intelligent Dean could present himself to be. It was as though the horrors of the world had aged him well beyond his years. It was frightening sometimes. Dean, on the other hand, was not thinking anything close to what Jim was. Instead, he was slowly turning Jim's words over in his mind.

"What job?"

"Something that will help a lot of people," Jim replied, choosing his words carefully. John was keen to introduce Dean to "the life", but not before he was ready.

Dean touched his chin as he contemplated those strangely exciting words. He knew about people who helped other people from his superhero comic books, but he had never known someone like that in his real life. "Like…a… _superhero_?"

Jim could not help but smile at Dean's choice of words. Leave it to him to say something that the adults would have no choice but to respond to in a positive way. "What are you doing up so late, kiddo?" Dean normally had a difficult time sleeping when he was in a strange place, but he usually slept pretty good at Jim's house.

"I heard Sammy," Dean explained bluntly, swaying a little on his feet, the tiredness taking over. "He was making his _hungry_ cries."

Jim arched an eyebrow. It never ceased to amaze him how well Dean knew his little brother. He was able to interpret each and every little cry that he made, and then communicate his needs to the adults in their lives. More than once, Jim had relied on Dean to decode one of Sam's more troubling temper tantrums.

"Oh, well, I appreciate you being on the ball, son." Jim thought for a second. "Let's go back upstairs, and you can get tucked into bed, and I'll give Sam his bottle."

Dean thought for a second, the safety of his brother always at the forefront of his mind. It had taken him several months for him to feel comfortable enough for Jim to even hold his brother, let alone be trusted with the sacred task of feeding him his formula. "Okay. I like that."

Jim smiled, deciding to hold off on calling Caleb until after the one-year-old baby was fed, and Dean was back in his own bed. "Do you think Sam will like some rice milk?" He waited for Dean's response while he gently took him in his arms, and carried him off up the winding staircase. In the older house, the stairs sometimes had the unfortunate habit of creaking on certain steps.

"I think so."

Jim nodded, glad to have Dean's approval. Turning down the darkened hallway, he carried the small child to the small guestroom he had set up for them. It was nothing special: a Pack 'n Play housed a very awake Sam, and a small bed was Dean's domain while they stayed there. Gently depositing the small child onto the bed, Jim made sure that Dean had his stuffed animal with him, before turning his attention to his little brother. Sam seemed to sense that the elder pastor had too much on his mind, and did not fuss like usual.

"What do you say, Sam? Do you think you could have some rice milk and maybe a little yogurt?" Jim smiled at the infant while he carried him down the stairs. Sam seemed to have no specific preference for food, but instead settled with playing with Jim's shirt.

Carrying him into the kitchen that was just off the study Jim had been occupying for the last few hours, he set the baby in the highchair he had had the foresight to provide for the times when the boys were there, and set about making Sam the food items. Sam, to his relief, did not seem to have the energy to do much but eat the food in front of him. Slapping his hands on the tray when he was done, Jim obliged him and cleaned him off, and then carried him back up the stairs.

Dean, to his relief, was asleep when he quietly tucked Sam back in. It was a relief because he knew how much Dean worried when he was awake. Much more than a normal toddler-aged child should have to worry. Taking one last look at the boys once he crossed to the door, he flipped on the night light that Dean had chosen for his house, and left the door ajar. It always made him feel safer to know the boys were right within his range of hearing.

Crossing the open floor-plan to his study, Jim shut the door only a crack, and sat down in his leather seat. Reaching for the address book again, he picked through the names and numbers until he found Caleb's. The young hunter was in Dallas, and it gave Jim a jolt of hope that Caleb would be able to easily assist him in the hunt for their friend. Caleb was a night owl, and Jim knew he would be more likely to be in livelier spirits than Bobby had been.

 _"Jim?"_ Caleb's quiet voice came over the line, once he had picked up. _"Something wrong?"_

"I'm sorry to call you so late," Jim apologized. "But I have a…situation here."

Another understatement.

 _"What kind of_ situation _?"_ Caleb demanded, shifting to hunter mode once those words had slipped from Jim's mouth.

"It's John," Jim sighed. "He went looking for a spirit, that was a few days ago, and I haven't heard anything since."

 _"Where are the boys?"_ Caleb demanded. They were always the first thought on each of their minds.

"They're with me," Jim assured him.

Caleb sighed in relief. _"Good. Where was this hunt?"_

"Right by you, around Dallas."

Caleb paused. _"Listen, I'll go check it out, okay? It's close to another hunt I have, anyway. Just let me know what I'm dealing with, and I'll take over."_

Jim sighed in relief, knowing he could always count on Caleb to help when things went wrong. Even though the young hunter only had a few years head start on John, he was still a capable and skilled hunter, who knew all the tricks of the trade.

"Thank you so much."

" _You know me, I love the game."_

Jim shook his head with a smirk as he hung the phone up. It was late, well past midnight by the time he had hung up with Caleb, and he was exhausted from the up and down worry he had spent all afternoon on.

Climbing up the stairs with a sigh, he was relieved to see the sanctuary of his bedroom and all the peace and comfort it offered him, as he slipped into his bed clothes, and beneath the warm covers.

The last thoughts he had, before sleep stole him, was where John could possibly be, and what had taken him away from his precious boys for so long without so much as a phone call.

It was troubling, but he was determined to put it behind him, at least until the morning when his conscience would be clearer.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**  
_

 _So this story was first published under a different account years ago. For reasons I am still unsure of, I deleted this entire verse I spent years on. I wanted to perfect it, and I guess I thought that deleting it was the only option? Instead of just manually going through the chapters. But due to a miracle, I recovered the stories on a Fanfiction archive site. Seriously, those guys are amazing! So now that I have the series back, I will be republishing it and editing it. My hope is that old and new readers will come back to this story, and fall in love with these characters the same way that I have._


	2. Chapter 2

Owning and operating his own gun supply business, allowed Caleb Rivers to lead a somewhat truthful life away from the prying eyes of the police that seemed to be constantly breathing down his neck. Despite the secretive hunting part of his life, it was nice to actually provide a legitimate license to police when, inevitably, they would knock on his door.

After losing his wife and unborn child to a demon some years ago, he had devoted his life to finding and killing all things that people only dreamed about. After getting his start with Jim Murphy and Bobby Singer, he felt confident enough to start taking on his own cases.

Meeting John Winchester and his two little boys a few months previously, was the icing on the cake. It was nice to hear the pitter-patters of little feet as they ran and tripped around his shop, laughing to their hearts content.

While he didn't agree with involving little boys on hunting trips, or leaving them alone in sketchy motel rooms, it wasn't his place to argue and he knew it. When he got the call from Jim that John was missing, he wasn't entirely surprised, and he wasn't surprised that John would jump at the chance to take a hunt that was both dangerous and far away from legit backup.

But Dallas was close to another job he had lined up, and it was also his hometown. It wasn't a stretch to drive about an hour or so away into one of the sleepy towns, and search out the new hunter and see what he came up with.

When he rolled into the backwoods town, the first thing he did was go to the scene of the crime, or the scene where John was conducting his investigation. Route 99, the highway that had seen many a death over the last several decades. All young men, all on the same stretch of blacktop over the last few decades. The cops hadn't yet been able to see a pattern, but Caleb knew much more than they ever would. Rolling up under an overhead bridge, he carefully got out.

One of the first things he learned when he was in the middle of training, was to always watch his back against anything that might sneak up. The latest death had long since been cleaned up, but he was looking for something that the cops would never be able to pick up. Digging in his pocket for his EMF reader, homemade, he methodically waved the contraption around the base of the bridge, and the accompanying side of grass that was on the side of the road.

Caleb's brow furrowed when he noticed a few tiny specks littered among the green and brown grass. The specks were red. Over the years since learning to hunt, a part of his job description was also crime scene investigator for the supernatural. Bending down, he scraped some of the rust-colored substance onto his hunting knife, and took a closer look.

Blood.

It did not surprise him to see it, but it did not bode well for the new hunter. Ignoring the dread that settled into his heart like a hurricane wave, he stood back up and put the knife back. His EMF was silent, but he knew that could change at a seconds notice. Taking another lap around the highway, he noted the lack of traffic. It was likely police had closed that portion of highway, especially considering the crime scene tape.

"What happened to you, John?" He murmured softly. The blood on the knife was stuck in his brain.

Resigned to the reality that he was not going to find anything worth noting on the bridge at that time, he turned and headed back toward his car. Stuffing his hands (and the EMF reader) in his pocket, he looked up when he noticed a figure standing not too far away from his vehicle. Trained to be on guard with anyone that unexpectedly came up to him, he tensed only a little, and made sure he had his weapons on him. The woman (or girl, more like), was not moving.

"Hello," Caleb said, moving ever so slightly toward her. The girl regarded him, but did not verbally say so.

"It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you."

The girl did not move, but did not move _away,_ either. Instead, she seemed to be contemplating the best move to make toward the stranger in her midst. Caleb, meanwhile, took another step toward her. A part of his instinct was telling him to be wary, but to be relaxed enough to allow the girl to trust him.

"He's dead." The girl choked on a sob, shaking her head slowly. "He's just _dead_." Her brown hair fell around her face, getting stuck in the torrential downpour of her tears.

" _Who_? Who's dead?" Caleb asked, finally closing the gap between them, and handing her a tissue.

The girl stared at him, before accepting the tissue. She blew her nose loudly, and dabbed at her tears. "He just…he just went over the bridge."

Caleb followed her gaze to the top of the bridge. It did not long to see the blood that had not been cleaned up, and the yellow crime scene tape securely in place. The latest death must have happened before he was able to get there in time. Shaking his head, he directed his EMF toward the spot she pointed at, but doubted it would be able to pick up much from the distance he was at.

"Your husband?" He scoured her fingers for a ring, but could find none.

"My…my boyfriend!" She wailed.

"What happened to him?" Caleb had trained his voice to remain calm, and not get too overexcited.

She shook her head again, dabbing at her eyes and nose at the same time. It was obvious that whatever it was, it had been traumatic for the young girl who was now staring him down. Waiting for her to speak, he took another look around the highway, and noticed more blood splatters at the base of the bridge.

"He…he had his own issues to deal with, you know? I guess his…his guilt was too much for him."

Caleb arched an eyebrow; that was unexpected. "His _guilt_?"

She nodded, choking back another sob, before simply walking away. Not able to say anything to call her back while he tried to decode her cryptic message, he could not shake the feeling that this woman, as innocent as she appeared to be, was possibly hiding something. She certainly gave him enough food for thought to contemplate. Shaking off the sinking feeling he had about his friend, he took his knife out and looked at the blood again.

It was dried blood; it was not from the recent death that took place. Running his index finger over it, he tried not to think about what that must have meant for his friend. Neither he or Jim was willing to think about the possibility of Sam and Dean losing the only parent they had left. With a deep sigh, he finally returned to his car, and put the bridge and the strange girl, in his rearview mirror.

Finding a reasonably priced motel was not hard in a small town in Dallas. Pulling into the first parking lot with a neon 'vacancy' sign, he opened up the glove box and pulled out a small tin box that housed his _many_ illegal credit cards. One of the less fancier parts of hunting was the illegal activity he had to conduct for his safety. Credit card fraud, oddly enough, was the one thing that made him vaguely uncomfortable. Choosing the latest card he had received in the mail, he slipped it in his pocket.

Once he had gotten a room, he went through the familiar process of warding the room against supernatural evil. A salt ring was always the first precaution he took, followed by a few sigils, and some weapons he put within easy reach in case something tried to sneak up on him in the night. Once that was done, he sat down on the creaky bed and pulled out the few pieces of information he had on the case. The strange girl now on the top of his list, and the contacts Jim had that he gave to John.

Adapting a flawless persona to get willing cooperation from the people he contacted, was second nature to him. Most often, he took on the personas of famous rock stars or actors. It was usually hilarious to see the looks on people's faces when they figured out where the inspiration for his name came from. Flipping through his list of contacts to call, he settled on the name at the top of the list. The mother of the man who died. The boyfriend of the young girl.

"…I am so sorry for your loss." Caleb listened to the grieving mother on the other end. The conversation had gone well so far, and now all he had to do was attempt to get an interview with her. "Do you mind, Mrs. Ellis, if I could stop by and ask you a few follow up questions? It's routine, especially in an undetermined death." Caleb listened to the woman hastily agree to meet with him later that day. "Great. Thank you so much."

Standing up once he had secured his coveted appointment, Caleb shrugged on his leather jacket, and stepped out into the cooler-than-normal mid-afternoon air. Striding across the parking lot, he spotted the main office, and lazily made his way inside. There was no one there, apart from the employee who was dozing across the room. Glancing down at the first desk near the front door, he thumbed through the log book that was open for all the world to see.

Leaning down, he fingered through the different names on the list. There was only one he was looking for. He truly did not know what he would do if he found more conclusive evidence of his worst fear. Stopping at the last name on the list that was highlighted in green as a new tenant, he shook his head in disbelief. He knew the alias John had used; it was a name they had gone over as one that was not too discreet, and would not likely attract attention. He had been there.

Caleb's legs suddenly felt weak, as though they were made of the consistency of Jell-O. Having everything he needed, including the room number for where John had been staying, he stealthily slipped out of the small office and walked the short distance to the motel room on the second floor of the outside landing. John's room appeared to be empty from the outside looking in, but he was not taking any chances. Using his lock pick, Caleb gently eased the door open and slipped in.

On the surface, there was nothing out of the ordinary. The room was messy, typical of a hunter who was in the throes of researching, and there was moldy food that indicated John had not been in the room in at least a few days. That was the biggest takeaway from the search inside the room, and it made Caleb's heart sink. Bending down, he took a look at the cheeseburger that now had flies perched on it. Shaking his head, he straightened up, and noted the protective salt ring, and open research books.

Walking toward the back of the room, Caleb did not know what to make of the oddity of the motel room. There was no concrete evidence that John was hurt, but plenty of evidence to suggest that he had abandoned the motel room. The rotten food indicated to him that he did not plan on being gone long, but something had happened. Not wanting to think of _what_ might have happened, Caleb looked up when something caught his eye.

A large section of wall had been cleared to make room for the vast amount of research that now occupied it. Stepping closer to the maze of articles that now adorned the space, Caleb glanced carefully at the papers that were from the local newspaper. They were all connected to the case John was investigating. The deaths on Route 99, and the young men who had fallen victim. Impressed at the pattern John was able to establish, Caleb took a piece of motel stationary, and wrote down the names of the young men who had all met an untimely end on the highway. Thirty in all.

One notable piece of information caught Caleb's eye: "What the _hell_?" The murders had all involved men, and all had been young fathers. Connecting the dots in his frazzled brain, Caleb took down some of the research, and made for the exit. It was when he was passing the bed that was a mess of sheets and blankets, that he noticed the object he had missed on his first walk-through. John's journal. His pride and joy since getting into the life.

John never went anywhere without that thing. It was glued to his side. Picking up the thin journal, he perched on the bed and began leafing through it. There were a few chapters that dealt with his wife's murder, and the latest hunt he had gone on. From looking at the pages, Caleb knew John had gotten further in the hunt than Caleb had given him credit for.

" ! #$%^&* it," Caleb murmured under his breath, seeing the gravity of the situation outlined on the pages.

When he stepped out of the motel and went down the brick steps, he saw something on the cement that made his heart stop: blood. It wasn't enough to attract attention, but just enough that Caleb was able to pick it up. Bending down, he touched the spot lightly with his fingers, it was still wet to the touch. The stain didn't seem to lead anywhere, not further down the drive, not even into the forest on the other side of the lot.

" ! #$%^&* it," he muttered, running a hand over his face, as he forced himself to walk back to his own motel room across the lot.

* * *

"Unko Jim?" Dean asked, after lunch had been served. "Is Daddy lost?" His wide hazel eyes were downcast as he voiced that question. It broke Jim's heart.

"No, Dean," he reassured him, even though he was almost certain Dean could see right through his lie.

"That's not how Daddy feeds Sammy," Dean noted, watching Jim attempt to feed Sam some of the baby food John had given him.

Jim looked up, a smile playing around the corner of his mouth. "Oh, really? How does your Daddy do it?"

Dean took the airplane-shaped spoon from Jim, and imitated airplane noises while he steered the spoon into a mesmerized Sam's open mouth. Grinning victorious, Dean handed the spoon back to Jim, satisfied that he had taught him something about Sam that he hadn't known.

"Do you want to finish feeding him?" Jim asked, seeing how attentive Dean was to his brother, and how much pride he took in that.

"Sure!"

Dean eagerly took the small bowl from Jim. "I can tell Daddy that I helped feed Sammy."

"That's right," Jim nodded.

With a quiet sigh, he put the boys in the living room with a cartoon movie, and went out into the kitchen where he could still see the boys, but conduct his search for their father without them knowing.

His first order of business was to call Caleb and get an update on where he was and what he had found so far. "Caleb?" He asked, when he had finally gotten him on the phone. "What's going on?"

 _"I found that journal he uses in his motel room. After I left, I noticed some blood splatters on the cement outside."_

Jim's heart sank faster than a stone into his stomach, as he leaned against the counter. "Was it significant?"

 _"It was enough for me to notice it. I'm going to go see the people he was helping right now, figure out when he last communicated with them."_

"Alright. Let me know."

Jim got off the phone, more emotionally exhausted than he had been when he had gotten on. The search for John had taken a turn that he hadn't been prepared to handle at all. It was terrifying to imagine the evils of this world taking yet another life.

Looking out at the boys as they watched their movie, he felt a deep pain circulate in his chest as he gazed at them, as they unknowingly faced losing another parent in less than a year.

It was too cruel for him to even contemplate. He prayed that their little hearts would be spared the pain of such a loss.

* * *

 _ **AN:** Thank you for all the reviews in the last chapter! I truly am enjoying going through these old chapters, and editing things and even adding more detail. I'm so glad I found this series again, and I can't wait to continue it!  
_


	3. Chapter 3

Over the years since Caleb had gotten directly involved with the hunting lifestyle, he had learned to compartmentalize his emotions into separate boxes to be checked later. It did not bode well for him (or John), to focus heavily on the blood spatters he found on the highway, and at the motel room. It would only end up hurting his investigation, and his friend. Accomplishing that task, however, was easier said than done. His mind was traveling a thousand miles an hour as he contemplated what could have possibly caused the blood marks, and if they truly came from his friend.

Blood of any kind was not good. Especially not when it was located in two separate places. Of course the blood could have come from either John or the man who recently died, but he was not willing to let himself draw any unnecessary conclusions before reaching the facts. Climbing into his truck for the next portion of his research process, Caleb sighed deeply, and tried to put the blood off his mind. The blood from the highway was still on his knife, which was tucked securely in his hunting bag.

Driving the truck off the dirty motel lot, he pulled off into the town traffic. The day was quiet for that particular town; no one was willing to do much because he knew they were all scared of the recent murder. It made his job easier in getting to the victim's house, and finishing up the research process he needed to do. Brushing a hand down his face, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror, and noted how utterly exhausted he looked, and well older than his years. A product of the stress that was not getting the better of him. Neither he or Jim wanted to face the facts of where this investigation was leading.

Sam and Dean deserved a living parent in their lives; not someone who they would only hear about from the recollections of their father's good friends. Dean was only five; he would pick up on the absence of his father better than his brother would. He had already experienced so much loss, it made Caleb's blood boil that he might soon face another. Sam was a different matter, but it was still tragic. He was only a year old, and would have no memory of his mother _or_ his father to carry him through. The hunting world was cruel, but Caleb naively thought two little boys would be spared.

Caleb was so engrossed in his thoughts that he very nearly missed the turnoff for the peaceful neighborhood where the victim's mother lived. The street was small, the sign nearly hidden behind a few bushes. Scanning the row of nearly identical houses that all had neat yards, apart from one that looked like it had seen better days, Caleb slowed his truck and pulled into the driveway of the house that was at the end of the street. Pausing before getting out, he hoped that this interview would yield valuable information about John, and maybe also where he was supposed to direct his next investigation. Sam and Dean, as always, stayed front and center on his mind as he finally got out.

Walking up the winding pathway, Caleb's heart pounded in his chest. This interview would be unlike anything he had ever taken on before, and all because his friend was at the forefront of the investigation. It truly boggled his mind what could have happened to John, but all the possibilities he ran through his mind, proved to be anything but comforting. John was a new hunter, but what he lacked in experience, he made up for in surprising skill. A spirit haunting should have been a routine gig, but it was not.

When he knocked on the door, after making sure that his head was in the right space to conduct an interview, he was met almost immediately by a short woman, whose eyes looked like she had seen far better days. From the instant way she opened the door, it was clear she had been waiting for his arrival. Giving her a small, comforting smile, Caleb allowed her to show him inside. The house was dark, not surprising, and was also slightly messy. Caleb understood, and even remembered the early days after his wife was killed.

The woman walked ahead of him, and showed him to the family room, which was off the kitchen. Her long, black hair bounced unsteadily in the bun she had hastily put it in. Caleb followed her lead, gazing around at the unfamiliar surroundings. It looked like a nice, family home, but he knew that appearances could be very deceiving. Sitting where she directed him to, he returned the uneasy smile she gave him. It was obvious that maybe she was craving the company, since he did not see a wedding ring on her finger.

"Mrs. Ellis, thank you for taking the time to meet with me. I…I can't imagine what you must be going through."

Mrs. Ellis nodded, blowing her nose on the tissue she had in her hand. It seemed to be crinkled, and well past the date of expiration, but he was hardly going to judge her for it. The grieving woman's hands shook as she offered Caleb some coffee, which he accepted gratefully. Studying her closely while he drank down the searing hot liquid, he watched as she wrung her hands tightly around each other. A classic sign of nerves, and also general upset.

"You said over the phone, you had questions?" Her voice was raw, probably from not speaking too much, or from the amount of time she had spent crying.

"Yes," Caleb replied apologetically. "I understand, unfortunately, that your son-"

"-Max."

Caleb nodded slowly, mouthing an apology. "I understand that _Max_ 's death happened after he went over the bridge?"

"Yes. He was finally figuring things out, you know? And this happens." The woman seemed at a loss. "I just…I _don't understand_ what could possibly possess him to do something like that."

"Well, were you aware of any depression or upset?"

Mrs. Ellis fell silent, her eyes downcast as she mentally searched for any classic warning signs of something like that happening to her son. Caleb's heart went out to her, and it always made him feel slightly bad for pushing the victim's family so hard. Silently offering her another tissue once she finally let go of it, he watched her as her eyes once again welled with tears.

"He was stressed, yes. He was only sixteen, and he had the responsibility of a man twice his age."

" _Sixteen_?" That was a new bit of information that he hadn't yet heard. Bowing his head, he wrote the information down in the yellow legal pad notebook he had brought with him. "But I thought that he-"

Mrs. Ellis sniffled. "Had a child?" At Caleb's hesitant nod, she continued. "Yes, he did. We, of course, wanted him to give the baby up for adoption, but that woman wouldn't hear of it." The anger was hard to miss in her tone, and Caleb nodded sympathetically.

"What was her name?"

"Rachel. Rachel Landon."

Caleb nodded, writing down the name, and also wondering if she was the same woman he saw on the highway. With a case like this, he knew the woman he saw on the highway, could either be the same one, or someone from many years ago, who was now stuck on the same stretch of blacktop that the other deaths had occurred on.

"Your son, was he in favor of keeping the child? What did he think of that idea?"

"Well, he was excited about the prospect of being a father. And I have to admit, after awhile, I was, too. It was my first grandchild, and I guess I got a little too _over_ enthusiastic."

Caleb smiled. "My parents were the exact same way. Crib shopping, clothes shopping, basinet shopping, you name it."

Mrs. Ellis nodded. "The baby came, and everything was wonderful. Great, even. Max was adjusting to this new role, and Rachel seemed to be a good mother. They were both working, both very at tentative to the baby."

Caleb sensed an underlying "but" in the sentence. When he broached the subject of someone dying, he tried to segue into that line of questioning with the utmost sensitivity. The memory of his wife dying was ingrained into his head, and also the way the police handled the investigation. In a small town, people knew each other, and that included the local police. When he was brought in for questioning, they handled the topic well, and did not overtly threaten or accuse him of anything.

It was that method, he tried to implement in his line of work. Most of the time, it worked in getting families to feel more comfortable talking about the most painful time of their lives. Clasping his hands in front of him, the young hunter sucked in a mouthful of bracing air.

"Mrs. Ellis, what happened to Max?

Mrs. Ellis heaved a heavy sob, before reaching over and taking a photograph of him that was on the end table in full view. From the outside looking in, Caleb saw a young man who wore a hopeful expression on his face for his future. There was no hint of the chances that was about to come over him sooner than later. Taking the photograph from her, Caleb tried to picture this young man doing something like that, and could not.

"He…he had recently been laid off from his job. It was a good job. It was right up his alley. Anyway, he got laid off, and he changed." His mother snapped her fingers to illustrate. "Just like that. I don't know if it was the stress of the job, or the stress of the baby, or both, but he snapped."

Caleb leaned forward, his heart thundering in his chest. "What did he do?"

"I wasn't there. I just got the call from the police. They told me that they got a 911 call from Rachel. She was half-hysterical. Apparently, she walked in on Max, and he had drowned their daughter! The police, they got there fast, but they couldn't save Lily."

Caleb nodded, sighing deeply. It was those kinds of cases that often proved hard for him to maintain a professional distance. All he had to do was think about his own child, and how he would have given the world to be able to see or hold it, and he could feel the anger coursing through him. This teenager had ended a life before it really had the chance to begin. Taking a soothing breath, he refocused on the task.

"What about Rachel? How is she holding up?"

"Well, she was a mess. Understandably." Mrs. Ellis shook her head in disbelief. "She said she couldn't go on without her family. She said she would rather die than do that…and so she did."

"She-"

"Yes."

It was Caleb's turn to be astounded. It wasn't unusual for a parent to do that when their child was gone, and so suddenly, but he still could not believe the bizarre and dramatic turn the case had taken. Figuring out how best to approach his next question, he looked down at his hands, and twisted his wedding ring around his finger. It had been just over two years since his wife died, and he still couldn't bear to part with the ring.

"Mrs. Ellis, do you mind if I see a picture of Rachel?"

Mrs. Ellis nodded, swiping a hand across her nose, before digging into a drawer in her end table. A few odds and ends had been placed in there, including several photographs that were turned upside down. Grasping one, the grieving woman handed it over to Caleb. Taking the picture, he flipped it over and gazed at the woman who was staring back at him. One look at her, communicated to him that it was not the same girl he had seen on the highway.

"She was a bright girl. I heard she was top of her class in school. But more importantly, she had a caring heart. A compassionate one, too."

Caleb nodded. "I just have one more question. Did my associate come to see you? His name would be John Randall?"

"Yes. Yes, he did."

* * *

Jim was going just a little stir-crazy hanging around the house while Caleb took over the search for John in his hometown of Dallas. The pastor knew the best place for him was with the two boys both he and Caleb were so concerned over, but it did not negate the pressing need he had to do something that did not involve research, and then making sure the boys were properly cared for. Over the last few days, both boys had been troopers while all this change was happening around them.

Dean, in particular, seemed to be keenly aware that something was happening. He did not have the knowledge to know _what_ exactly was wrong, but Jim wondered if he could pick up on the thick cloud of tension that was hanging in the air like a sordid web. If he did suspect something was wrong in his life, he did not voice it. Instead, Dean threw himself into helping Jim with his baby brother, because only _he_ knew the right way to give Sam a bath, and to make him fall asleep. Little tricks he picked up, and ones his father taught him.

Jim, for his part, was thrilled that Dean was so willing to help him. It gave him a much needed break, and also shifted his focus from the boys, to the hunt for their father. Even though he knew Caleb had the job pretty well handled from his unique position right in the heart of it, the elder pastor was not accustomed to handing off jobs to other hunters without having a say in it. Sighing deeply, he looked out the window in the kitchen, and saw the nice day that beckoned two little children to come outside and play.

The invitation was too tempting to pass up. Sam and Dean had been cooped up in the house for the last two days without a break. Dean was a good sport; he hardly complained about being forced to stay indoors. Only Sam seemed to have a real problem with it, and that was when he somehow caught a glimpse of a toy he played with when they were allowed outside. Moving quietly through the kitchen, he expertly grabbed a toddler cup for Dean, and filled it with water, and then made Sam a little snack in his bottle. The boys were in the family room watching cartoons. Or Dean was, but Sam was busy figuring out the mechanics of walking.

Seeing them so young and innocent, broke Jim Murphy's heart. They had seen death, and had experienced the brutal aftermath intimately, and now they were staring yet another death in the face. Dean, for the first time since he had come to Jim's a week ago, was finally starting to relax in the presence of the hunter. Instead of having his guard up, he was actively engaged with the TV show he was watching, and seemed to enjoy teaching Sam the different characters on it. Sam, on the other hand, was more interested in the snack Dean had left for tiny hands to grab.

"Hey, Dean," Jim said, moving lithely in front of the TV, before bending down to switch it off. "You've watched quite a bit of-" he struggled to remember what exactly he had allowed him to watch.

" _Thundercats_ ," Dean filled in.

"Yes, exactly," Jim said, smiling at Dean's bluntness. "So, I was thinking, that perhaps you would like to go outside for a bit? Maybe blow off some steam."

Dean considered his proposal. "Sammy's coming, too, right?"

Jim nodded. "Of course he is. We can't leave him in here by himself."

Sam gurgled in response, oblivious to what was going on. "De!" Sam giggled. The only word he knew.

Jim was grateful that Dean had so readily agreed to go outside. It would do all of them good to blow off energy, and forget the last few days, which had been stressful on just about everybody that was in the house. Rising himself to his feet, Jim grabbed two coats off the hangers, and prepared to help the two little boys who were both excited at the idea of going outside and exploring some strange, new land.

"I can do mine!" Dean exclaimed proudly, grabbing the red coat from Jim, and expertly sliding his arms through the long sleeves. "Daddy taught me!"

Jim could not help but laugh, before leaning down to help Sam with his. The one-year-old had taken after his brother, and had attempted to get the coat on all by himself, with very different results from his brother. Chuckling when he noticed the frustrated look Sam had, and the helpless way he held out his arms to Jim, the older hunter quickly had the situation righted.

"Did your Dad teach you how to tie your shoes?" Jim asked, directing his gaze to the mess of laces that hung off the sides of Dean's shoes.

Dean shook his head. "No. He said when I was six." The small boy held up six fingers. "How long is that?"

Jim mentally calculated the time remaining for Dean's birthday. The child was excited about it, and Jim was glad to see him happy about something. "About four months."

Dean hung his head. "That _long_? That's a bazillion _years_ away."

"It won't seem like that long," Jim assured him, as he worked hard to get Sam's shoes tied. The child was nearly as impatient as Dean was, and had no compunctions about (loudly) voicing those complaints. When he was finally through with Sam's tricky laces, the one-year-old promptly leapt off the floor, and made his way around to Dean, and began tugging on his arm.

It was amazing to see the bond that existed between the two of them. When he was littler, Jim could remember fighting endlessly with his brother over the tiniest, most unimportant things. With Dean and Sam, they fought like cats and dogs sometimes, but also had a beautiful medium that balanced out the sibling fights they engaged in.

"I think someone wants your attention, Dean."

Dean turned to look at his brother, who was still pulling on his arm, and rolled his eyes. "He wants to go outside."

Jim laughed, rolling his eyes. "Then let's not keep him waiting."

Opening the sliding back door to allow the boys to run free in the open backyard space, Jim could see how utterly thrilled the boys were to finally release the pent-up energy they had inside them. Their legs were all but a blur as they ran in circles, and tried to catch each other. Sam, being the youngest at only one, had a much harder time playing the game. Each time he would fall in the tall grass, Dean would double back to make sure he was okay.

Relaxing at a chair around the backyard table, Jim kept the house phone close by him. He was wondering why Caleb had not yet called him, and he wanted to make sure he was around for when he did. Looking down at the hunting journal he had brought outside with him, he studied the details of the case John was hunting. It was supposed to be a simple haunting, but it was turning out to be anything but.

Directing his gaze to Dean when they made another lap around the yard, he could not help but wish he had the same childlike innocence that the two boys in front of him possessed. They had no real idea that their lives could change again, and he liked that.

"Sammy likes to fall a lot," Dean announced breathlessly.

"I think it's because his little legs are not as big as yours are," Jim explained, keeping one ear in the direction of the phone in the kitchen in case Caleb called.

"Yeah, but he thinks it's _funny._ "

Jim smiled, tickling Dean's nose, making the child laugh. "As I recall, every time _you_ fall, you think it's the funniest thing you've ever done."

Dean shrugged. "I _guess_ so."

Watching as he scampered off again, Jim had the inclination to make that night a bonfire night. It was just warm enough for it, and also just cool enough to warrant a night like that. He already had the right tools to make delicious s'mores, and the boys would love it. Especially Dean, who was developing a real sweet tooth.

Before he could get much further in his impromptu bonfire planning, the pastor could hear the phone in the kitchen ringing. Keeping one eye on the boys, Jim lightly got up from his chair, and rushed to answer the phone. The only problem was that he was not sure he was ready to hear the news if it was from Caleb.

"Caleb?"

The young hunter sounded exhausted. _"Hey, Jim."_

"Have you found anything yet?"

 _"I talked to the people that he was helping with the spirit, and they said that they last spoke with him not too long ago."_

"What about the hospitals?"

 _"I called all of them. They haven't heard anything, or admitted anyone with his description."_

Jim sighed, palming his face. The last thing he wanted to do was face the reality that they were looking for their _dead_ friend. He wanted John alive so he could give him a piece of his mind about leaving his boys without so much as a phone call, and the boys deserved their father to be with them. But without any solid leads, he knew they had nowhere else to turn.

"What about the county morgues?"

 _"I haven't wanted to even look there. It seems too soon, but I'm not sure."_

_"We've run out of options," Jim said. "Call me and let me know what happens."

Caleb breathed quietly. _"Okay."_


	4. Chapter 4

Jim's somber advice was running through Caleb's brain while he made the trek across town to the county morgue to do a professional examination of the victim's body. It was the _least_ glamorous part of the hunting life that he could think of, and it also made him partially sick to his stomach to look at the more gruesome corpses that were mutilated by the supernatural. But it had to be done. Especially with the latest victims of the spirit who seemed bound and determined to punish men for hurting their children. Over the years, Caleb had learned that spirits operated either by a blind rage, or through a sense of justice, or a combination of the two.

This spirit, for whatever reason she had, was operating from a sense of moral justice to her children. The brutal nature in which their children had left them, had rendered them unable to move on to whatever life was waiting. It was these kinds of cases, in which the moral ground was not so clear, that gave Caleb pause to consider his actions in sending this spirit back to wherever she belonged. It was in these areas that his heart could not help but have the slightest bit of compassion for them. He supposed, with a chuckle, that other hunters would call him "soft" for having compassion on a _spirit_ , a supernatural being, but he knew the line wasn't always so blurred.

The spirit, in her living days, had lost her children. The most precious part of her. The very beings that she carried in her womb for nine whole months. Then, to lose them unexpectedly, to the man that she thought she could trust with her life and theirs. The grief had then driven them insane, prompting them to lash out at the men responsible for the heinous crime. Unable to move on, they lingered in the same spot in which they had killed their partners in revenge, always staying in the same area for however long they were trapped.

It was a vicious cycle that needed to be broken. The theory wasn't the best one that Caleb supposed he could have come up with, but it was the only one that made the slightest bit of sense to him. The spirit was not moving on because she could not. Something tangible was keeping her there, something physical and pressing was keeping her from moving on to wherever spirits went. While Caleb could appreciate the sense of justice the spirit possessed, he also knew that it was not an option to keep her in the same loop that she had stayed in for so long. The spirit needed to move on.

Stopping at a stop light that conveniently sneaked up on him while he was lost in his morbid way of thinking, he ran a hand across his face, and tried to reconcile the unforgivable task he had of beginning the process of calling the county morgues to begin the next phase of his search for John. It was the last place he wanted to look for him. The last place his brain was assuming he was. John was new to the life, but he was also proving to be a very skilled hunter, who excelled at the life because of his drive to avenge the death of his wife. To think that he had been lost to the world when he was so new at it, was devastating.

Even more devastating was having to face the expectant gaze of his two sons, and inform them that they had lost their only remaining parent. The idea was ludicrous to him to John was dead. It was even more unreal to assume that he would have to do the thankless job of starting a search for a body. Sam and Dean were too young to know a life without both of their parents, and too young to understand why their parents would go. Tearing his focus from that brutal mind-grab, he revved the engine when the light changed, and made the sharp turn to a small plaza that held one too many shops.

Beyond the plaza, tucked neatly into a little corner so it would be unseen by the many shoppers out for the day, was the county morgue. It's building placement was smart, and also annoying, when Caleb nearly drove right past it. Pulling into a parking spot, his heart thundering in his chest, he reached over and grabbed the tin box that stored his fake ID cards. Scanning through all of them, he selected the one that would most likely get him through the door. Normally, the people working there, did not bat an eye when he presented them with his card.

Stepping out into the misty mid-afternoon air, Caleb tried to control the panic that was rising within him. The deeper he got into the investigation John himself was investigating, the bigger his panic became. The hunt was dangerous (and complicated), and the possibility of things going wrong, was proving to be larger than anticipated. One thing that Caleb was certain of, was that John would have benefited from a partner on the hunt.

Inside, the front office was uncomfortable chilly. The young hunter wondered why so many of these places had that undeniable chill to it when the back portion of the office was the only place that really needed the cold. Shaking his head slightly to rid himself of his pointless thinking, he ignored the other people sitting in the waiting area, and presented his badge to the friendly-enough receptionist, who examined the badge with a critical eye, before signaling for him to wait. Leaning against the desk, Caleb tried to breathe evenly.

Gazing out at the assembled crowd of people who were waiting for something he wasn't sure he wanted to know, he could see mingled looks of confusion and devastation written all over their grief-stricken faces. It was not so long ago that he had found himself in a similar position when his wife and unborn child were killed by the supernatural. Caleb could remember wearing the same look of shock and hurt that he saw on the faces of the people he was now studying.

Heaving a huge sigh, he flipped lazily through an informational pamphlet that promised the utmost privacy and discretion when handling matters of life and death. Caleb snorted. The places he went to, including this one, did not value privacy as much as they valued getting the bodies to their location, and out of there as fast as they could manage. Some places, like this one, did place a higher emphasis on security, which was something, but he always thought it was funny when a morgue tried to be cheerful.

Turning his head when the swinging doors off to the left side opened, he was greeted by a stern-looking woman and the same receptionist who greeted him when he first walked in. Adapting a persona to talk to people like the one he was talking to, had taken practice, but with time he had gotten more comfortable in it.

"Mr. Walker?" The woman said, glancing down at her chart. "I'm Dr. Paige. You made an appointment to see a deceased individual we have here?"

Caleb offered her a tight smile. "No, ma'am. I had to come here on short notice." He winced to put on a show of annoyance. "Boss has me on a tight schedule."

Dr. Paige rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "I know the feeling." She examined his badge again. "FBI?"

Caleb nodded. "Yes. In cases like this, where there's been repeated incidents that have similar traits, we're often called in to assist the state police."

Dr. Paige nodded, and Caleb could swear she was trying to flirt with him. "It must be a dangerous job. Interesting, but dangerous."

"It certainly is."

Caleb was no stranger to small-talk, but he was eager to get the ball rolling, and get the hardest part of his job over with. Examining the bodies was always difficult, even under the best circumstances. There were too many things he was trained to look for that the examiners simply had no clue of, and when they came in contact with something unusual, they often had no idea what to make of it.

Relieved when she led him back to the exam room, he looked around at the bare walls that were devoid of any personal family pictures, or even simple artwork. It was details like this that he had come to notice on the jobs he had done all over the world. Some offices were sentimental, and others lacked that familiarity. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he walked behind the woman, and waited with bated breath to reach the room.

"Surprised there isn't any artwork?" Dr. Paige asked, turning to look back at him.

"Caught me red-handed," Caleb replied with a smirk.

Dr. Paige shook her head, a small smile playing across the corners of her mouth. "We're not a dental office, sweetie."

Turning her words over in his head while she led him down yet another hallway that was nearly identical to the one they had started out walking down, he wondered if they kept the exam room tucked away so as to discourage curiosity seekers from finding it. It certainly would have tempted him while he was growing up. His father was a police officer, and would often regale his family with exaggerated tales of his exploits. One of those "exploits" was dealing with dead bodies.

Caleb smiled at the memory it produced. He and his brother would always be on the edge of their seats as they listened to these stories. They were always better than any bedtime story their mother could give them. Caleb supposed he was lucky to have grown up with memories that now made it easier for him to endure the long hours he spent working these cases that always took a toll on his heart.

Gratefully stopping when Dr. Paige stopped outside an exam room labeled 'Room 20', he mentally prepared himself to see the mangled corpse of the man who had been stupid enough to hurt his own child. It was these kinds of cases that always made his blood boil, and his hands clench into fists. These cases always had an impact on him for obvious reasons, and it was in these moments that made it hard for him to keep a professional distance from his own feelings.

"Here we are," Dr. Paige said, flipping on the bright overhead lights.

"When was he brought in?"

"Just Wednesday. About three in the afternoon."

Caleb nodded, jotting down notes in his journal. "Can you describe the condition of the body?"

Dr. Paige raised an eyebrow. "You mean what was left of it?" The doctor strode over to the sealed compartment where they stored the bodies. "It was…it was in pieces."

"In _pieces_?"

Caleb knew that only a seriously pissed off spirit was capable of mutilating a body so severely that it ended up in pieces. He supposed, once he mulled it over, that it made sense for a mother spirit to wreak that kind of havoc on a man she knew murdered her child. It was yet one more piece of evidence into what kind of spirit he was dealing with, and the brutality in which this murder had been executed.

Stepping up to the tray that housed the body, he looked away for one second to mentally prepare, before forcing himself to look at the man lying before him. The person's arms and legs, had indeed, been torn from his body. From looking closely at the torn flesh and the stumps that were left, he suspected the spirit had torn the limbs clean from his body with her bare hands. It wasn't impact with a chainsaw, but a vengeful spirit who wanted his head.

Moving upward in his exam, he noted the condition of the man's arms and fingernails. They were pale, but they were also imbedded with dirt and other debris. Reaching for a tool, he gently scraped some of the dirt from underneath a fingernail, and watched as it disintegrated before him to the ground. The man obviously did not make contact with the highway underneath the bridge, but most likely the ground.

"He was found by Route 99," Dr. Paige filled in, breaking the long silence that had fallen.

Caleb nodded absently, before lifting his head to look at her. "Off the record?"

"Off the record."

"If you didn't know any better, what do you think might have done this to him?"

Dr. Paige sighed. "If I didn't know any better…I'd say a pretty angry wild animal did this."

Her assumption was not far off at all. A wild animal of sorts, had murdered the man, but for a very different reason than the medical examiner probably suspected. Tearing his gaze from the man's arms and legs, and the copious amounts of dirt that he had collected from the fingernails, he reached for the medical chart the woman handed to him. There was nothing immediately off-putting in the chart, only the bare minimum details around his death. It was more difficult to conduct an investigation when the details on the death in question were frustratingly bare.

"Did you know about the other murders on the same route?"

Dr. Paige nodded. "Over the last several decades, several men were murdered on Route 99. Police were never able to identify a pattern…or the killer."

Caleb sucked in a lungful of air. "That's the problem. Too many deaths, too many women killing the men."

Dr. Paige nodded slowly. "After the men capped their kids."

"That seems to be the primary motive."

Not that Caleb could blame any of the spirits for murdering these men, but he wisely kept his observations to himself.

"There's something else." Dr. Paige bit her lip. "Something that was kept out of the official medical report."

Caleb raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what's that?"

In his line of work, he had come to expect almost anything when something of import was kept out of the "official" report. Glancing at Dr. Paige, he saw a strange look of confusion and even fear in her face. That was not something he routinely saw from medical examiners, and it caused him to reassess everything he thought he knew about the case he was working. He watched as Dr. Paige sifted through her files related to the death of the man, before producing a thin sheet of paper.

"Toxicology report. Blood work. The works." Dr. Paige pointed with her pen at the blood report. "Look at the blood report."

Narrowing his eyes at the tiny writing on the official blood work report, Caleb could feel his heart pound when he looked at the 'comments' section of the report that was at the very bottom. There was nothing in the report itself that caught his eye, but the comments made his heart skip a beat. It was obvious to Caleb that the examiner did not know what to put in the comments section to explain what he found, so he settled for putting it as bluntly as he could.

"Traces of a yellow substance, similar in smell and texture to sulfur, was found in the bloodstream of the male victim."

That was the last piece of information Caleb expected to read when he looked over the autopsy report. In his few short years of working on cases by himself, he had come across a variety of autopsy reports that had boggled his mind, but this one had most definitely taken the breath right out of him. Sulfur was a regular thing when he was hunting demons, but having it implanted in the bloodstream of the victim, was another thing altogether.

"The victim was possessed," Caleb murmured.

"Excuse me?" Dr. Paige demanded, interrupting the silent detective work he was doing.

"The victim was-" Caleb stopped himself, realizing (almost too late) who he was talking to. "Never mind."

There was nothing more for him to do in that uncomfortably chilly exam room. Muttering a quick goodbye to the overtly friendly medical examiner, he showed himself out of the room. Even with his mind swimming with the possible implications of what he had just found, he was able to memorize the complicated maze that loomed before him to get out of the building. Navigating the halls was not hard, but muddling through the long web of thought that was being spun in his brain, was.

There had only been one or two instances in the entirety of his career in the supernatural, where he had found something like sulfur in the bloodstream of his victim. The usual spot to locate sulfur was at the home of the family who had been murdered. To have that substance physically in the body of the person who was being used as a meat puppet, was very uncommon and it made the hunter who was tasked to figure out what happened, very uncomfortable. There were plenty of resources devoted to decoding something of that size, but he had none of it at his disposal.

Stepping out into the cold afternoon air once he had freed himself from the building, he walked as fast as he could across the parking lot, and slipped into his truck. The tight space gave him room to breathe since he first stepped out of it the hour before. Leaning his head back against the rough seat, he switched the station to a classic rock one, and tried to focus on breathing while he pulled out of the cramped parking space, and made his way back to his motel room. It was in these instances he wished he was able to call people from his car. It would make sussing the situation that much faster, and that much easier.

Studying the quiet town once he was stopped at a stop light, he wondered what it felt like to be a normal person with normal cares and concerns. The people dressed for the colder weather had no clue what was out in the world. They had no idea that as they went to work or went out for lunch, that so much evil was living in and around them. It had not been that long ago that Caleb had been ignorant to the truth. He almost forgot what it felt like to be normal, and have concerns about his mortgage, or his new baby.

Pulling up in front of his motel room, he quickly exited his truck, and entered the small room. It was a relief to be able to escape to the privacy of that small room, and make the calls he needed to make, and conduct the research he needed to conduct. Collapsing onto the unmade bed, he washed his face with his hands, and tried to think of a logical explanation for why sulfur would be found in the body of the victim. Each time he tried to come up with a tentative explanation, he quickly dismissed it because it was simply too _ridiculous._

Picking up the phone, feeling as though he had exhausted all other possibilities, he dialed the one number of the person he knew would most likely be able to assist him on this mind-boggling case. Sucking in a breath, he could feel frustration swirl inside of him. He wanted to solve the case so he could (hopefully) find John, and give the boys their father back. As much as he tried to push it down, he also could not help but feel a plethora of anger at John for abandoning his sons when they needed him the most.

" _Hello?"_

Caleb sighed in relief. "Hey, Bobby."

He could hear the kitchen chair legs scrape against the rough floor. _"What's going on?"_ Bobby paused. _"Did you track down that_ idiot _?"_

Caleb smiled at Bobby's tone of voice. As much as Bobby would deny it, he cared as much as he and Jim did about John, and especially what happened to his two sons. "No. No, I haven't."

 _! #$%^ &* it. Well, what are the specs of the case?"_

"That's what I need your intel with."

" _I kinda assumed that my job as a hunter was really just to prepare me for sharing my mind with those who call at all hours of the freakin' night."_

Caleb shook his head. "You're impossible, old man. Anyone ever tell you?"

He heard Bobby slam a shot glass down on the table. _"Anyone just did. Now tell me what the hell you found."_

The only problem was that Caleb was not entirely sure _what_ he had found with the stiff he had examined. The sulfur was still running through his mind on a constant loop. Pushing himself off the bed while he tried to arrange his thoughts into a coherent sentence, he swiped a soda from the small fridge in the motel room. Bobby was a go-to for the supernatural, and a guru when it came to providing imperative information.

"Men. All guilty as sin of murdering their own children." Caleb took a sip of the searing cold liquid. "The mothers then turned the tables, and killed the men responsible. Now, it's been a consistent pattern over the last few decades."

" _Did John eyeball that pattern?"_

Caleb nodded, running his tongue over his lips to swipe off the remaining soda remains. He supposed his drinking habits _could_ be a little healthier than they were. Moving over to the wall across from the bathroom, he studied the areas of John's research. It was a blessing in disguise to have stumbled upon John's extensive research when he broke into his room.

"I think so. It's detailed. Like _really_ detailed. I haven't seen something like this except for _seasoned_ hunters."

" _Well, we always knew, didn't we? What John lacked in experience, he made up for in skill."_

Caleb nodded, before returning to his bed. His tired muscles needed rest after the walking, and his own spirit needed to rest. The search for John was dominating every square thought of his, and he knew he needed to mentally recharge for awhile.

"So what do you make of the spirit issue?"

Bobby sighed, as though he thought Caleb was an idiot. _"Gravare"_

Caleb swallowed a too-large-gulp of his soda. "I beg your pardon?"

In the background, Caleb could hear a dog barking from somewhere outside. He knew Bobby had been thinking about getting a dog to guard his junkyard, and also have a little extra layer of warning for when demons decided to pay a visit.

" _A gravare. It literally means grief in Latin. A gravare is a spirit. One who's lost her children. One who's so driven by devastation, that she lashes out at the person responsible for it."_

Caleb nodded to himself. "It fit's the pattern. So, um, small question: Why would the spirit target John?"

" _The gravare_ usually _only targets the men responsible for the killing of their child, but if someone interferes in that, the gravare will, in a lot of ways, act like a mother bear, and defend herself."_

"So if John got in her way-"

" _What would a mother bear do?"_

* * *

 **AN:  
** So I wanted to put this chapter out _waaaaaaaaaaaay_ sooner, but Writers Block decided to pay me another visit. Rather than get totally discouraged and delete the entire thing, which would not have been out of the question not too long ago, I decided to just take a step back and try again. Today, the words flowed and I wrote this chapter in one day.


	5. Chapter 5

Minnesota had seen an unfortunate drop in temperature that resulted in an overnight frost. Not to mention, the heavy snowfall that made it nearly impossible for the residents of Blue Earth to do much else other than miserably wipe their car windshields off, and hope that the weather soon cleared. The snowfall was not that unexpected, but it's sudden appearance, meant a drastic change in plans for some people who were planning more outdoors-y activities for the day. One of those people was residing in a quieter part of Blue Earth, in a small, two-story home that was situated only a few streets down from his church.

Jim Murphy was used to the harsh Minnesota winters, but he was a bit surprised at how fast it had decided to rear its ugly head. Being in the middle of winter usually meant catching up on the mountain of work he had to do, which also included drafting a sermon for that Sunday. The weather seemed to have zapped his inspiration dry, as his hand clenched the pen and hovered over the notepad he used to write his sermons down. He could schedule a few counseling sessions with some people from the church who had left him a message. He had already spoken to two of those people, and softly assured them that he would be available soon.

One of the many responsibilities he had as a pastor, was also providing his counseling services to the folk in his church. Some of them simply needed a reassuring voice to let them know that their problems were not as ugly as they thought, and sometimes they needed counseling for a marriage on the brink of divorce. And even counseling for people who had suffered a loss. Those were the hardest to sit through and watch as the people relived the death of their loved one, and tearfully asked him how God could let something like that happen. Especially if it was someone who was young, who died before their time.

Picking up the phone on his desk after debating whether or not to start the next phase of his work, he scrubbed a hand down his face, and plastered on his best polite tone as he conversed with the young woman on the other end of the line. She was going through a fractured marriage, and wanted to schedule a meeting with the pastor as soon as possible. After assuring her that he would be available sometime during the next week, he hung the phone up, and made a similar appointment with a young man who was seeking direction for the death of his fiancee. From his limited understanding, he gathered she had died from an accident.

Hanging the phone up once he was sure he had made all the calls he needed to make, he tried to make heads or tails of his sermon, and found himself staring at a blank page while his pen hung limply in his hand. The message was already planned out by the elders in his church, but he could not seem to fit the words to the message he was supposed to give. Crumpling up the useless piece of paper and tossing it a few feet into the trash can, he leaned back in his office chair, and tried to understand where the mental block was in his mind. He was always able to write sermons, even under stress and time limits, but he could not this time. If he could venture a guess, the pastor supposed it was due to the unforeseen circumstances he had been forced into by the disappearance of his friend.

John Winchester had been missing for nearly a week with no phone calls, and certainly no sign of the novice hunter. He had gone on a spirit hunt, that Jim assumed was supposed to be simple. It had turned out to be anything _but_ simple, and left the pastor in the terrible position of having to find him, and also having to somehow keep his two young sons from knowing too much before they were supposed to. Even though John was a new hunter, Jim had complete confidence that he would be able to tackle the job before him. A spirit hunt was relatively easy for any hunter, new or old, if they had the right smarts for the job. John did.

Glancing out into the living room, which was right in view of his study, he noted Sam and Dean watching a television show that he had set up for them before retreating to his office to attempt to make his sermon. The two boys had been troopers for a long week while Jim offered half-hearted explanations for why their father was not back yet. Sam, being only one, was far too little to understand what was happening, but Dean was keenly aware that something was wrong. The five-year-old was too intelligent for his age, and that made the uneasy job of keeping him from the truth, that much harder.

The pastor did not know what he would do if he had to tell Dean that his father was dead. There was no simple way of telling a child that their parent had died, especially one who had already lost a parent before. Dean would be aware of what was going on, and he would probably guess what Jim would say to him.

Standing up once he was sure his sore muscles would be able to withstand it after being in the chair for so long, he stretched uneasily and closed his sermon book, and also his notebook in which he kept important hunting information, as well as his list of contacts to call. The house was silent, apart from the low sound of the television, and the air conditioner blasting a comfortable amount of warmth into the house. Standing at the entrance to his study, he wondered what he would do to keep two young boys occupied, and away from the TV for so long.

He was not against television, and used it far more than he would like to as a temporary babysitter, but Dean was getting far too used to asking for a certain show to watch, and being granted his request. The little boy needed much more stimulation than what a few hours of cartoons could offer to him. Sam was happy to just be by his big brother's side. Jim watched while the little baby alternated between crawling and scooting on the floor as he searched for a hidden toy under the sofa. Ever in tune with Sam's needs, Dean noticed him searching for the toy, and easily plucked it from the sofa.

When the TV show finally reached a commercial break, which advertised a cereal Dean happened to like, Jim decided now was the time to make his grand entrance into the room. His appearance did little to attract Sam's attention, who was happily gnawing on his hard toy, but it did draw Dean's attention away from the TV for the first time in a long time. His hazel eyes were soft, downcast, and uncharacteristically sad for a little boy. It broke Jim's heart to see how he was trying to remain strong for his brother, while also casting himself aside in the process.

"What are you doing, Dean?" Jim asked, motioning the five-year-old to come closer to him.

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Watching TV."

Jim smiled. "Thundercats?"

His question elicited a rare smile from the toddler. It brought an unexpected feeling of warmth to Jim's heart. Anything that he could do (either intentionally or _unintentionally_ ) to draw Dean out of his sadness was good enough for him. Even when Dean was looking at him, he was also keeping a close on Sam. It was amazing to see the bond developing between the two.

"No. Tiny Toons."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Why did you pick that show? I thought Thundercats was your favorite."

Dean rolled his eyes, displaying such a John-like attitude that it nearly made Jim do a double-take. "It _is_. But when Sammy saw this show, he clapped his hands." Dean demonstrated what his brother did. "Then he cried when I turned it off."

Jim smiled, ruffling Dean's unruly hair. "You're a good big brother, Dean. Always watching out for Sammy, aren't you?"

Dean nodded seriously, puffing out his chest. "Yes! Daddy told me to watch out for Sammy."

Jim tried to keep his comments to himself when Dean spoke about the unrealistic expectations he put on his five-year-old son. Watching out for Sam was not an unrealistic expectation, but Jim knew that John often put too much responsibility for the child on his oldest son. According to Dean, there were times he would be expected to feed and even watch Sam while John left for short periods of time.

If Jim didn't know that being torn away from his father would break Dean's heart, he would be sorely tempted to do something about getting Sam and Dean into his care on a more permanent basis. There was simply no excuse for leaving two children alone in a seedy motel room, while all kinds of people could be camping out next door. The thought of it made Jim's blood pressure start to rise.

"That's right." Jim offered a tight smile. "And you are doing a great job. But you know, Dean, it's okay to look out for _you_ , too." Jim tried to be as sensitive as he could while broaching that subject with the child. It was not in Dean's nature to look out for anyone but those he cared about. Even himself.

"But Daddy said-"

"I know," Jim assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder to further engage him in the conversation. "But what about you, son?"

Dean looked at him as though he was trying to figure out what he meant. "What about me?" His voice sounded so small, so unlike Dean that it nearly severed Jim's heart.

"Aren't you sad? Or maybe," Jim said, trying to angle the words in a way Dean could understand. "Angry?"

Dean shrugged, then seemed to change his mind, and nodded slowly in consent. "A little." He held up two fingers. "Just a little."

"That's okay," Jim said, trying his best to comfort him. "That's _normal_ , Dean." Reaching down to scoop Sam up when he got dangerously close to a power outlet, he held the squirming infant in his arms. "That's okay to feel like that."

There was only so much a small child could take with all the change that had happened in his life. It was too much for any adult person to tackle, let alone a small boy like Dean, who as strong as he was, was also not immune to the feelings of anger and sadness that he was not admitting to feeling to the elder pastor. When Jim had first met Dean, he had been astounded at the ease in which he carried himself, and the fierce love he had for his father and brother. Over time, he had learned that his first impression of the boy, was exactly who Dean was in the most literal sense of the word.

Over time, Jim had also picked up that John had, in some ways, expected Dean to shove aside his own feelings about certain things and take up the role of child soldier in this battle he had no idea was even in his life. A five-year-old had no business knowing about the supernatural, and what killed his own mother. John had not yet revealed that critical information to him, but he was starting to train the child to repress his own emotions so that they would not get in the way of doing the job and protecting his brother. It made Jim mad that John was putting _all_ of that on a five-year-old.

"Don't tell Daddy," Dean whispered, as though he was afraid to speak too loud.

"Don't tell Daddy…what?" Jim asked, even though he was painfully aware of what Dean was talking about.

"Don't tell him I told you I was sad and angry."

Jim reached forward and pulled the child into his lap, balancing him and Sam on two knees was interesting, but Jim managed to handle it. Sam was delighted to have his brother in such close proximity again, and let that be known by the way he playfully batted at Dean, and tried to pull at his hair, which Dean expertly avoided. Having Dean on his lap, so close to him, let him feel just how tense the child was. There was no reason a small child should feel that kind of tension in his body.

"Dean," Jim said softly. "What do you think would happen if your Dad knew you were sad?"

Dean was quiet while he contemplated that answer. With John, Jim knew it could be a variety of answers that would end up making his anger even more so. It was challenging to keep his anger at bay, and never let Dean know that he was feeling anything negative toward his beloved father. Keeping his trust to allow him to open up was crucial to him.

"He…he would say I need to take care of Sammy. I can't be sad. I have to take care of Sam."

"You know, Dean," Jim tucked some of the child's hair away from his eyes. "It's okay to feel sad."

"No, it's _not_ ," Dean insisted, shaking his head. "Daddy said not to."

"Because of Sammy?" Jim questioned incredulously. "You can still take care of your brother, and feel sad."

Dean still remained doubtful, and Jim did not want to push him into a corner where he refused to say anything that might help Jim understand him a little bit better. Wisely deciding to drop the immediate topic, he looked out the window that was directly across from them, and noted that the snow had blissfully stopped falling. It was still cold outside, but Jim wondered if going outside somewhere might help Dean out of the funk that he was in.

It had been a few days since the boys had been allowed outside to play in the backyard, and even longer since they had ventured outside of the house for anything. John had left two car seats for the boys, but Jim had yet to take advantage of them. Putting his hand on his chin while Dean slid out of his lap settle on the floor with a very curious Sam, he watched as the two of them started building a block tower. Sam, for the most part, was unaware of the concept of building something, and instead chose to refine his skills in knocking the tower down.

"Sam!" Dean said, torn between anger and laughter. "That's not what you do!"

"De!" Sam yelled delightedly. "More!"

"Sam! You'll knock it down!"

Jim smiled. "That's okay, Dean. At his age? That's what they all love to do."

Dean thought about that for a second. " _Maybe_." His tone made it clear that he still did not have to like it.

Jim watched as Dean reluctantly built the tower, and then stood back to allow his little brother to instantly demolish the carefully built building his brother had taken great care to construct. Watching them learn to play together was a great pleasure, and Jim could only feel pity for John that he was missing these moments of his two boys playing together and growing to cooperate with each other. His work as a hunter was good, but nothing was more important than his two sons.

"Hey, Dean," Jim said, once his mind was made up. "Let's get out of here, okay? You, me, and Sammy."

Dean looked up from the blocks, which Sam immediately took advantage of, and started chewing as many of them as he could fit into his mouth. The pieces were much too large for him to accidentally swallow, and that eased the fear that the hunter would have otherwise felt at seeing what he was seeing.

"Go where?"

Jim shrugged, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Well, it's too cold to go outside. So maybe we can go to the play land?" When the boys were in his care, he often took them to a McDonalds play area which allowed the boys to blow off endless amounts of energy, and gave him time to sit and not worry as much as he would have otherwise.

Dean seemed to consider this proposal _very_ seriously. "Can Sammy play, too?"

Jim laughed kindly. "I think he might be too little. But he can sit with me, and we'll find something for him to do, too."

Dean, once again, fell silent as he considered what Jim was suggesting. "Okay."

Getting two boys ready for the frigid weather and out the door, was not as easy as Jim (foolishly) assumed it would be. Dean, for the most part, was self-sufficient and could even properly place his shoes on the correct feet. Watching as the five-year-old expertly zipped his own coat up, Jim marveled at the amount of skills he had to learn since his mother had died. Sam, on the other hand, was entirely at the mercy of his brother and Jim for getting himself ready and out the door. It was funny to watch Sam _attempt_ to get his coat on, and then realize that he still needed help.

Zipping up the blue coat John had brought for him one visit a few weeks earlier, Jim noted how small the coat already was on the one-year-old. Sam, he noticed, was growing like a leaf and did not seem to be slowing down in the slightest. His brother was growing, but seemed to be going about the process at a much more conservative pace. Chuckling quietly to himself at the differences in the two boys, Jim bent down and helped the small boy latch his shoes. Luckily for the pastor, they were the ones that had Velcro straps and not laces.

Standing up after what seemed like ages of sitting in the same spot, he made sure Dean had gotten all his things on the right way, before grabbing his own coat, and hooking the car keys around his finger. The outside was beckoning them to come out, but Jim was not entirely sure exposing them to the chilly air was the best idea. Even if they were only making the short walk to the car. Looking at the two expectant faces that were waiting for him to open the door, he knew he could not deny them the chance to run and play for a little while. He would deal with any potential illness later on.

Outside, the snow continued to fall, after a short recess. Sam, being Sam, took the opportunity to stomp around in the thick snow that had fallen on the ground. Dean, to Jim's surprise, joined in the fun, and opened his tongue to collect all of the snowflakes that he could. It was these stolen moments that were rare and priceless. Shepherding them into the car, Jim watched as Dean made sure Sam was buckled in before he let Jim buckle _him_ in.

"Uncle Jim?" Dean asked, swinging his feet idly from his car seat.

"Yes, Dean?" Jim replied, studying the small child from the rearview mirror.

Dean smiled, perhaps knowing that his request might be pushing it just a little bit. "Can I listen to AC/DC?"

Jim winced, hoping that the small child would not see it. He did not mind it when Dean requested to listen to music that did not clash with his own personal convictions so much, but AC/DC was another matter to him. Sighing softly, he looked at the expectant gaze of the small child, and resigned himself to a little bit of compromise.

"Sure, Dean. We can listen to that for a little while."

Reaching up into the tape holder he had set up above him, he hesitantly grabbed the CD John had given him that Dean always liked to listen to when they were on the road. Ordinarily, the pastor did not listen to the type of music that Dean and John liked, but he was willing to indulge Dean while so much remained up in the air with his father.

"Thanks!"

"You're welcome."

Settling into the drive while the first track played, he watched Dean bob his head to the music, and he knew he had made the right choice in letting him have that small taste of freedom from his thoughts. The place they were going to was not far from the house, and before Jim knew it, they were pulling into the parking lot of the local McDonalds. When they pulled in, Dean did not hesitate to take off his own seatbelt, and then promptly assisted Jim in helping Sam.

Keeping the kids by his side while they traversed across the parking lot was difficult, but only because both of them were ecstatic to finally get out and have an adventure for the afternoon. Not to his surprise, the place was packed with people who were desperate to get their kids out of the house for the day. The play area was inside another set of doors that was blocked off from the main part of the eating area. Jim was grateful that Dean stood obediently by his side while they ordered food, before taking off for the play area.

Keeping Sam close by his side while Dean took off for the jumble of climbing equipment that was set up near the eating area, Jim watched as Dean fully delighted in tackling the enormous monstrosity that was the McDonalds play ground. He showed no fear in climbing to such heights, and even gleefully waved down at them from one of the tallest points of the tower. Sam was not oblivious to what Dean was doing, but also seemed to be content to eat the lunch he had in front of him.

Glancing around the room, Jim noted a small phone near the wall. It had been awhile since he had heard from Caleb, and he was anxious to reach him and receive an update to their ongoing investigation. It was his luck that he had Caleb in the ideal location to take over the physical search for John. Keeping one eye on Dean, and the other on the telephone, he moved smoothly across the room to reach it.

Holding Sam with one hand, he punched in the number for Caleb's motel room. The ringing tone dragged on for what seemed like an eternity, until someone picked up on the other end.

"Caleb?"

" _Hey, Jim."_ There was something wrong. Caleb sounded numb, almost.

"What's wrong?" He adjusted Sam in his arms, and tried to ignore how fast his heart had started to pound.

" _I found something. I was about to call you…"_

Jim closed his eyes, trying to breathe evenly. "It's okay, Caleb." He paused. "What did you find?"

The silence on the other end of the phone was deafening. It did nothing but reinforce Jim's belief that something had happened that he was about to hear about. Looking at Dean, he could see he was still making his way all over the enormous structure in the play room. His laughter was as surprising as it was a welcome relief from the way he was just a short time ago.

" _Jim…John's…he's dead."_


	6. Chapter 6

Bobby Singer was no stranger to the cruel and often unpredictable world of the supernatural. He had received his fair share of "on the job training" from several people, who later ended up becoming lifelong friends, both sharing similar stories of how they managed to get in the life. No one ever _chose_ the hunting life. No one in their right mind would choose to forgo the normal pleasures of life, and dedicate themselves to hunting full-time.

Yet that was what Bobby Singer had done. He had done the job for as long as he could remember after that one night when he lost his wife. It had happened so suddenly that he hadn't even been sure that he was dealing with a demon, but rather, a woman who was on the brink of mental collapse after yet another fight over the state of their disagreement on children. When she had come at him, when she had tried to kill him, Bobby knew the woman he met and fell in love with, was not the same woman who stared back at him.

Killing her had been the single hardest task of his entire hunting career. Plunging the silver blade into her heart once she lunged at him, aiming to kill him, he had no choice but to helplessly watch as she struggled to breathe around the stab wound in her chest. Half afraid of what might happen to him if the police ever found out that he had murdered his own wife, he tried his best to explain her death in a way that would make some lick of sense to the EMTs. But he was crushed, mentally, and somewhat physically, and he knew that he had probably only aroused curiosity.

Through the grief that threatened to devour him whole, he could not control the growing urge to find the thing responsible for his wife's death, and kill it. Without having to be told, he knew the thing that was inside his wife, was _not_ wife. He and Karen had many fights over her desire to have children, and his unwillingness to compromise on the issue. It wasn't that it was her fault for pushing him. He knew he could be a downright stubborn pain in the ass, who refused to open up and share what he went through in his childhood. Only a saint would be able to sit through that steaming pile of crap and emerge halfway sane.

Not that she didn't try to pry some kind of information out of him. Well-meaning comments here and there, but he always brushed them off and told her that he didn't like talking about his scarred childhood. He dealt with that enough in his dreams to last him a few lifetimes, and now he had his wife's murder and the mental imagery that decided to pay him nightly visits for the first several months after her death.

Rufus Turner was a good friend. Steady, reliable, and near just about saved the novice hunter from a mental breakdown in the early weeks after his wife was murdered. He not only ended up becoming one of Bobby's first mentors in the life, but even had the unforgivable task of telling the grieving man that his wife had been taken over by a demon. A _demon_. Bobby could remember his reaction as though it happened yesterday: Shock, followed by the obligatory punch to the face, some yelling, and then eventually, acceptance.

As if there was any _acceptance_ of the fact that his wife had been killed by a supernatural evil that had found its way into their home. As if there was any geting around the fact that she had been out of her mind when she attacked him, and if he had known what to do, he might have been able to save her. The truth helped him to acknowledge the impossible idea about monsters and evil things, but it added a whole other layer of pain and devastation that hid itself in the drinking he became prone to after his first foray into the hunting world.

Rufus Turner was a good ally to have in the life, but he could not sit by Bobby's side for the rest of his life while he figured out the ins and outs of the hunting world. As he so politely reminded Bobby, "I have my own business to take care of. You're smart, you're capable-ish. You'll do fine." The vote of confidence did _not_ help Bobby accept the fact that he was on his own for the first time since getting married, but it did make him want to prove Rufus right. He did want to learn how to take care of himself, and more importantly, arm himself against any future attacks.

Skilled in reading and always having a good eye for literature, the new hunter dived into whatever hunting lore he could get his hands on. Sometimes, it made no sense, and other times, it was as though he was getting a special glimpse into the thing that killed his wife. That was his goal: To find the monster responsible for the demise of his once happy life, and end it. Not that it was _easy_. He found that out when he followed a lead half-cocked, only to find out that it was a monster masquerading as the thing that killed his wife.

The _thing_. That was his "unofficial" nickname for the monster. It fit when he didn't have any other supernaturally correct terminology in which to refer to it as. What frustrated Bobby so much was that as useful as Rufus was in his first few months as a hunter, he was also clueless as to what could have had the desire to break into _his_ home and murder _his_ wife. Usually, demons had a pattern for what they did and why they did it, but this was proving to be a case that needed a little more thinking.

"Bobby," Rufus said one day, slamming a finished shot glass on the table. "Look, we've been dragging our asses to hell and gone lookin' for that thing that offed your wife. I don't have all the answers, but I do know someone who might."

Might, being the operative word. Bobby lived his days operating under the assumption of "might" and "maybe." It was the unspoken language in the hunting world. Nothing was ever for certain anymore, but Rufus's advice was the one thing that he found that he could rely on. When he didn't have the answers that Bobby wanted after so long of searching, he gave him the only lead that he could think of.

"A _pastor_?" Bobby read the name on the small business card with much doubt. "Rufus-"

"No, Bobby," Rufus shook his head, pausing to take another drink. "You gotta trust me on this one. Jim Murphy-" he pointed at the name with his index finger. "He's the real deal."

"And you know this _how_?" Bobby did not count himself as an expert in the supernatural by any means, yet he found it laughable that a pastor was a hunter.

"Because...he's helped me before on a few local cases. He's based out of Blue Earth."

And that was how Bobby Singer found himself driving through the freeway to reach this strange new place that he had never heard of before. And that was how he ended up meeting one of his first genuine friends in the hunting world. His earlier doubts about trusting a pastor with the details of his wife's death, vanished the second he met the warm-hearted man, and listened to his own grisly tale of losing his family.

Jim Murphy had a few years head start on him, and had already gained an impressive hunting library that was hidden in a special corner of his study behind a false wall. The volumes of lore that met his eye, was almost too much for the hunter's eyes to take in. Grabbing one particularly huge tome from the bookshelf, he dusted it off, and began to read through the confusing script with as much of a clear mind as he could muster.

After that, the two of them made it a point to stay in touch with each other. There was strength in numbers, and it was rare to find a real person in the hunting world that possessed a good heart. Bobby had yet to learn that lesson, but he knew that Jim Murphy must have already experienced all of that and more.

His connection to Jim Murphy was the reason he found himself embracing certain parts of the hunter's life that he never thought he would find himself getting tangled up in once he began hunting. One of those parts was having to contend with the fact that Jim sometimes made friends with the wrong type of hunters, the ones who would either end up becoming a danger to themselves or others, or the ones who grossly overestimated how good they were.

John Winchester fell into the latter category, and though Bobby had only met him a few times, he was not surprised to learn that he had gone missing on a hunt he had no business getting tangled up in in the first place. What _did_ surprise him was that he had left his two sons in the hands of Jim Murphy, and had neglected to even grace them with a phone call. That was not altogether unusual, but it was unusual that John would be gone for that long.

Try as he might, Bobby Singer could not help but feel sympathy for the two kids John had left behind. They were nice enough for snot-nosed brats, and the oldest one seemed to dote on the younger one, who appeared to follow his older brother wherever he went. The devotion was born out of their shared trauma of losing their mother, and also going on the road with their father.

Bobby knew that the hunting life was no place for youngsters. It was hardly the place for able adults to be, much less children, but his hands were pretty well tied with how much he was able to say to their determined father. Not that he didn't say something when it came to mind, but now he only found himself shaking his head in disbelief at the nightmare that had befallen the Winchester family. He had gotten the call from Caleb that he had found the sulfur in the victim's blood, and also the violence in which the spirit attacked the victim.

A mother bear on steroids. _Of course_ John would choose that type of hunt to get himself tangled up with. A gravare was not something to mess with unless that particular hunter was highly experienced and knew what to expect. John was neither of those things. He thought that it was a typical spirit that he could salt and burn, but Bobby knew better than that. These things did not go gently into the night without some special wrangling.

Sitting with his legs propped up, Bobby tried to ignore the thoughts in his brain as he slowly turned the pages of the volume he was reading. There had been instances where he had seen a victim with sulfur in his blood, but those instances were extremely uncommon. It had to have been the work of a majorly ticked off demon that wanted to either make a point, or use it for another angle. Stifling a yawn, he took a deep gulp of his whiskey. Hunting did not do anything to help with sleep.

It just made it _worse._ Especially when most hunters seemed to think they had the right to call him at all hours of the night for important lore information. Bobby had half a mind to tell them to find their own encyclopedia, and often did convey that information when they caught him in an especially bad mood. Now, he was just worried. If John had stumbled upon a supernatural mecca, the odds of him finding his way out alive, were slim. Most hunters had a hard time with navigating cases like this, let alone a novice like John.

Sighing deeply when the phone rang in the kitchen, he put the heavy book down, and walked as slowly as he could. Maybe if he didn't answer the first time, whoever was calling, would get the message that he did not want to function as a human bookworm, and leave him be. Disappointed when the ringing did not stop once he reached the kitchen, he grunted his disapproval of being interrupted from his research into John's idiotic case, and picked up the phone.

"What?" His tone should have communicated his displeasure at being taken away from his work. At least he hoped his tone said all that.

 _"Bobby."_ It was Jim. Immediately, Bobby knew there was something wrong. The pastor was always calm, but this transcended calm and went into numbness. There was never a good reason for him to sound like that, and it made the hairs on Bobby's neck stand up.

"You or Caleb manage to dig anything up?"

It was obvious they had. The only question he had was _what_. His mind was already preparing for the information he was about to receive. When he began hunting, Bobby found that his ability to recall certain things, was much better than it had been before the tragedy.

 _"Yeah, we did. Or Caleb did, anyway."_ There was no mistaking the rough edge to Jim's voice that had not been there the last time they spoke about the case.

"And?" Bobby demanded, shaking his head in irritation. "Spit it out."

There was nothing but silence on the other end of the line where Jim was. Bobby thought, when he listened closely, that he could hear the muffled sound of Dean talking to Jim. Or maybe he was talking to his brother. Bobby wasn't sure, but he guessed that was the reason for the sudden silence. The guys did not want to convey any information to Dean without being certain of its truthfulness. The poor boy had already been through enough.

 _"Sorry, Bobby,"_ Jim apologized. _"Dean needed help with something."_

"It's fine. How is he doing, anyway?"

 _"Depends on the day. Today was okay. I took them to the play land for a little while. I talked to Caleb there, Bobby."_

Bobby leaned against the wall. "And?"

Jim sighed. _"You need to get here, Bobby. John's gone."_

Bobby's heart sped up, and he could feel sweat start to gather around the base of his neck. He knew what Jim was implying. The meaning was ridiculously clear, but his mind somehow was able to keep him from fully understanding what Jim was saying. There was no way that the hunter was _gone_ in the permanent sense. No way that his children had just lost their father.

"He's gone?"

 _"Bobby...John's dead."_

"What do you mean he's _dead_?"

Jim paused, clearly thinking how best to rephrase the question so Bobby would understand it. The hunter _did_ understand. That was the problem. John had gone off and gotten himself killed by the spirit he was hunting, and had left his two sons in the process. Bobby thought he was a generally calm and reasoning person, but there was no reasoning something like that.

 _"Caleb didn't say much, Bobby, but he found him. He has some information, some evidence to go over when he gets back. I think you need to be on this with us."_

Bobby nodded to himself; there was no way he would miss taking a trip to Minnesota to see the boys, and also help in the quest for answers as to what happened. What had started as a search and rescue mission, had now turned into a desperate search for answers. If Caleb had managed to get any evidence, forensic or otherwise, before the police got there, he knew that would be information they would need.

He was already calculating in his mind how long he could be gone from his salvage yard before the locals started talking. He was somewhat of a recluse, but that did not stop the charming old ladies from spoiling him rotten with their freshly baked pies, and other home goodies.

"I'll be there, Jim." Bobby stepped away from the wall phone, extending the cord as far as it would go as he grabbed a few things to pack in a travel bag. "Have you told the boys yet?"

He did not envy anyone the task of telling Dean that his father was gone. The boy was close to his father, and had been wondering where he had disappeared to. Hearing that he was never coming home, would be bound to have an impact on the child that would last a long time. Beyond the shock Bobby could feel coursing through his body, he could also feel anger that two young boys had become orphans to that cruel world.

 _"I haven't told them yet. I'm waiting for Caleb. I think he might be able to help me with it."_

"Okay, just hang tight. I'm coming as fast as I can."

And that was how Bobby found himself packing as much as he could in as little time as he could. Ever since he started hunting, he had become used to packing as much as he could, while also keeping in mind how much time he had. With something like this, he knew he had to make it there as quickly as he could. Caleb would hightail it back to Jim's place, and Bobby knew they needed help decoding whatever evidence Caleb had scrounged up.

With a salvage yard as his backyard, there was no shortage of pieces of crap cars to choose from. Selecting one he knew would run, Bobby slid into the seat, and prayed that the car would hold up long enough to get him to Minnesota. The roar of the engine and the weak sputter of the motor was a welcome reprieve from the silence that had settled over him. It gave him a break from his thoughts to focus on keeping the car going down the freeway.

Minnesota wasn't far-only a few hours-giving him a perfect window to formulate a plan once he got there. He knew that Dean would be curious, wondering why his uncle Bobby was there when he only ever saw him during the times no one else could watch him. Knowing Dean, he had already picked up on the tension from Jim, and the way he was acting. Dean was one of those kids who observed everything around him, but in a much quieter way than most kids his age.

Bobby wondered what was going through his mind, if anything at all. Once again, he felt a flash of anger at John for the way he had gone on this hunt without any backup. He knew that he loved his sons more than anything, but he also knew that his drive for revenge had done a number on his judgement. No sane father would leave two young boys alone for days at a time without adequate supervision. Yet, John had done it. Numerous times. It made no sense.

Filling the rest of the drive with a classic rock station, Bobby hoped the jarring music would be enough to keep his thoughts from sneaking up on him. He preferred not to dwell on what he could not change. And he could not change the sad reality that John Winchester was dead, and his two boys had lost both parents now. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he kept his eye out for anything that might grab his attention. It paid to be observant in the life. It could mean the difference between life and death.

Grateful when he passed through the Minnesota state lines, he felt himself visibly relax when he knew that it would not be long before he reached the sleepy town of Blue Earth. As funny as the name was to him, the town was also a safe haven for Jim, and now for the boys. There was hardly anything that warranted attention, and no supernatural activity since Jim had cleared a vampire nest years back.

Driving through the towns, he took a deep breath as he prepared himself to face the situation that he was about to walk into. Jim was trying to keep everything normal for the boys, but Bobby wondered how long they could keep that facade up without telling Dean. The child needed to know the truth, and Bobby knew that Jim and Caleb would be the ideal ones to break the news to him. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he drove past the sign welcoming him to Blue Earth.

Jim's house was right past the sign, down a couple streets, and then was the first house on a quiet street that mainly consisted of young couples just starting out, and the occasional big family that had settled down there. Beyond the neighborhood, Bobby could see just a tiny sliver of Jim's church.

Jim met him at the front door before he even had a chance to knock. His normally smiling face was devoid of that, and was instead replaced with a hard edge to it that Bobby had seldom seem in the hunter. Giving him a grim shake of his head, Bobby allowed the man to lead him inside the house. Everything was quiet, except for the TV that was blaring in the living room. One second of listening told Bobby that Dean was watching a cartoon.

"Thank you for coming," Jim said, pulling out a chair for Bobby to sit in.

"Don't be stupid."

Jim smiled, though it was strained. "You want some coffee? I have some made."

"You got anything stronger?" Bobby inquired with a grimace.

Jim nodded silently, before getting up to get him the requested booze. Looking around the kitchen/dining room that he was in, it was not hard to see that Jim had done his best to make it a home. There was nothing concerning research, cases, or anything of the like. Jim mainly kept those kinds of things in his office where prying eyes could not get to them.

When Jim returned with the booze, Bobby gratefully took a long pull from it. It burned his throat as it traveled down. Just as he liked it. Focusing on the hunter sitting across from him, he could feel the pain and confusion that was coloring Jim's attitude. It was foreign to Bobby. He had only ever seen a positive and kind man who had somehow found himself in this life.

"Is it my fault?" Jim asked, shaking his head.

"John?"

Jim nodded. "I gave him the information for the hunt. Everything I had- _everything_ -told me that it was a simple haunting. John's handled those cases before. I didn't know-"

"Stop." Bobby shook his head. "I want to throttle you for sending him out there, but it is _not_ your fault. Even if you had told him it was the most dangerously stupid thing he could do, we both know he would have still gone."

Jim shrugged one shoulder. "I guess."

Bobby straightened up in his chair. "What did Caleb say? Anything?"

Jim nodded, taking a deep breath. "He said there was a lot of evidence at the scene. He took pictures, I know that."

Bobby nodded. "Was there sulfur?"

Jim shook his head. "Not that I know. His body was just torn up from whatever got to him."

"The Gravare."

Caleb arrived there several hours after Bobby arrived. The younger hunter was usually like Jim, positive in all things, but this discovery had taken a toll on both of them. Sitting with his hands steepled under his chin, Bobby waited while Caleb set up the vast amount of research he had taken from the scene where he found John. It still sent a chill up Bobby's spine when he thought of John actually being dead. It made no sense to his mind.

"Where did you fid him?" Bobby asked, once Caleb had finally sat down.

"It was right along that same route, just a few miles up the road." Caleb visually showed the location with his two hands.

"So he was right there all along," Jim murmured, shaking his head.

Caleb nodded. "Yeah. I missed him the first few times I went there."

Jim shook his head. "It was an easy miss. If you had been just a few miles up the road, you would have found him earlier."

Caleb nodded. "Maybe."

Bobby cleared his throat. "What condition was...was his body in?"

This was no "normal" investigation of a supernatural death. This was a friend of theirs who had just lost his life to the supernatural. It was hard to remain professional about something like this when so much was at stake. Holding his breath while Caleb picked up a folder, he tried to lecture his mind to treat this as any other job. Anything else would cloud his ability to assist in the research part of this thing.

When Caleb slid the photos out of the folder and passed one to Bobby and one to Jim, he tried to prepare for the inevitable reaction that he knew would want to crawl its way to the surface. Taking a deep gulp of air, he finally forced himself to look at the shape the body was in when it was discovered. At first glance, there was nothing outwardly wrong with his face, but it was further down that Bobby noticed the brutality in which John had been murdered.

His chest resembled ribbons, and his stomach was viciously cut open with what looked like claw marks from something. Even for someone who had been hunting for as long as he had, and had seen just about everything, this was almost too much for Bobby to take in. Forcing himslf to keep looking, he noted the position his body was in, and the strange configuration of the cuts.

"They look...they look sloppy...but also precise," Jim muttered, narrowing his eyes.

"Well," Bobby said, rubbing at his eyes. "These spirits, they're in so much pain that they just lash out at whoever gets in their way. Usually, the object of their wrath is the person who did whatever they did to the child, but John got in the way of that, and he paid for it."

Caleb shook his head, his eyes were red. "The amount of blood that was there...it was obvious that he had tried to get away before he went down."

That sounded like John. A fighter right until the ugly end.

"What-"

They were distracted by the tiny sound of feet scrambling into the kitchen. Almost grateful they had a reason to take a temporary pause on their discussion, Bobby turned and saw Dean skidding into the kitchen, followed by a very enthusiastic Sam. The two boys were clearly racing each other, judging from the way that Dean smiled when Sam couldn't keep up as well as he thought he could.

The hardwood flooring made it hard to continue the race, but that seemed to be okay for Dean when he noticed Caleb sitting at the table. From the beginning, Dean had formed his strongest bond with Jim and especially with Caleb. It had been awhile since he had seen the younger hunter, but it was almost as though no time had passed between them.

"Caleb!" Dean smiled, before positioning himself in Caleb's lap. "Where have you been?" Dean's smile turned into a frown as he pondered the mystery of where Caleb had been.

Caleb smiled, though Bobby could tell it took everything he had. "I'm sorry, bud." He held the boy close, wrapping his arms around him. "I just had to do a grown-up job for awhile."

Dean turned his head curiously. "What _kind_ of job?" While he waited for his answer, Dean played with the sunglasses Caleb had fitted over his head.

"A very serious one," Caleb assured him, grinning a genuine one this time, before teasingly plopping the oversized sunglasses on Dean's face.

While Caleb played with Dean, Bobby discreetly slid the gruesome crime scene photos away from where Dean would be able to see them. There would be no going back from the child seeing something like that. The break in their talk gave Jim the chance to attent to Sam, who was busy fussing and pointing to the food pantry where he knew Jim kept all the good foods.

Dean, meanwhile, was completely distracted from his previous worry over where his friend had been, and was focused with trying to keep Caleb's glasses on his head. He failed, but he did not let that stop him from enjoying the time he had with his Dad's friend.

"Did you see Daddy?" Dean asked hopefully, his eyes lighting up with hopeful anticipation.

Caleb hesitated, before shaking his head. "No, bud. Not this time."

Dean's face fell. "Oh. Okay."

Bobby was relieved when Dean dropped the question, and instead focused on catching up with Caleb, and informing him of what he had missed with Sam's development. According to Dean, Sam had learned to firmly recite the word, "No!" It was nice not to have to worry about what they would tell Dean right then, because Bobby knew there was no firm plan set. For right then, he knew that Dean could enjoy more precious time of innocence before his world was shattered.

* * *

 _ **AN:** After another LOOOOOONG bout with Writers Block, here is the new chapter for Missing. I enjoyed writing from Bobby's perspective very much. _


	7. Chapter 7

_The smell of death clung tightly to the air like a thick noose wrapped tightly around the neck of the thing. It was a smell that was completely unmistakable to the man who had happened across it so suddenly that he was not even sure what he was experiencing was real. How many times had he gone through this particular stretch of highway during his search for John, and never stepped foot in that general direction? But apparently, a few hundred feet in the other direction made a significant difference. Caleb's jaw tightened as he prepared himself to further investigate the stranger smell. There was no mistaking it was a body. The question on his mind, was whose body was it. What poor soul had met his end on this blacktop._

 _Wrapping one hand around his gun, which was tucked tightly behind him in his jeans, he took one cautious step foreward. He knew the implications of his find better than anyone. He knew the damage it would do to two innocent children if the body he was smelling, was the body of their father. And he also knew that his investigation would expand to another possible lead if the body was another victim of the spirit who was supposed to be targeting a certain kind of man. With all that running through his mind like an endless spider web, he stepped off the concrete and oto the grass that shielded him from the sharp drop below._

 _The drop was doable to overcome, but it was what he might see at the bottom that was making Caleb hesitate as his boots crunched over the various twigs and leaves that had been strewn across the landscape on the cool fall afternoon. Even though he could feel the acute coldness that was permeating the area, unusual for Dallas, he could also feel the sweat start to gather at the back of his neck. It was not sweat from the exertion he was putting on himself, it was the thought of finding his friend in that position. Until then, Caleb had been guarded in his optimism of finding John alive._

 _The air whipped past his face as he stepped right up to the edge of the hill-y drop that was hiding yet another unfortunate victim of this spirit. There was no question in his mind that it was a spirit who had killed whoever he was about to find, and not another player in town. The question of how sulfur had entered the latest victim's bloodstream was still swimming through his mind, but his main priority then was figuring out what he would find when he looked down, and also how he would manage it if it proved to be his worst fear. Caleb's mind was trying to warn him, trying to tell him to back off and not look down. He didn't want to know, his mind screamed._

 _But he had to know. He had to know whether he was going to be examining another stranger's body, or figuring out a way to tell two boys that their father was dead. The thought of not knowing was almost as worse as knowing the horrific truth. With that bracing thought in mind, Caleb took a gulp of air, and peered over the side of the cliff that was partially hidden by a forest of trees and rocks. At first glance, he did not see anything, even though his nose had given away the big secret already._

 _At first glance, there was nothing that called Caleb's attention to the fact that he smelled a dead body, but when he took a risk and stepped right to the very edge of the large side and looked down closer to the very beginning of the cliff, he saw something that made his heart drop into his stomach: It was a body. One that looked like it had been there for at least a few days, judging from its appearance, and also the sea of blood that looked both old and new. The problem was that even though Caleb could feel his heart splinter into several pieces, he could not positively identify the body from that distance. He had to go down._

 _There was no question in his mind that the body was John's, but another part of his mind was urging him to consider the very possible alternatives to what he was seeing. The spirit was on the prowl for anyone who she thought was guilty of harming their children, and she could have very possibly picked off another victim. But another, more pressing part of him, was already preparing for what he would say to Jim when he finally got back to a phone. There was no protocol in the hunters handbook for how to handle a death like this one. Not when two boys were at the center of this thing._

 _Delicately picking his way down the cliff, he narrowly avoided being tripped on weeds and other low-hanging branches that curled threateningly around his ankles, as though it was trying to keep him from seeing what was at the bottom of the cliff. His free hand that was not holding his gun, held a polaroid camera, ready to take as many crime scene photographs as possible so he and Jim could agonize over them later. It was always the part of the job that he dreaded the most. Having to go through the victim's personal belongings, and also play the part of crime scene investigator. This time, however, would be different, he was sure._

 _When his feet finally landed on steady ground, the smell nearly overpowered his senses. As did the distinct sound of buzzing flies that had already become attracted to the body. Swallowing back the vomit that wanted to make its desired appearance, Caleb turned right and let the sound and smells lead him to where he needed to go. The area was strangely quiet. The traffic of the highway was muted by the trees, and he was sure his own heartbeat was doing a good job of keeping his thoughts centered on the one sound and smell that mattered._

 _Letting his feet lead him to the where the body lay hidden behind a few tall weeds and trees that almost encased it in a protective stance, the first thing he noticed was the blood, and the bits and pieces of ripped clothing that looked like they had come from a leather jacket. The kind that John almost always wore when he was on hunts. Taking a step around the weeds that were coated in dried blood, and also fresh blood, he took note of the trees around the body that had bloody imprints on them._

 _Raising an eyebrow, he stepped closer to the massive trunk, and noticed that the imprints were clearly that of human handprints. Either the victim had been injured and was trying to find his way back to safety, or he had fallen and had brushed his hands against the rough bark. Either way, it did nothing to soothe Caleb's fragmented heart. Pulling out his camera, he took a few photos of the suspicious tree trunk. Any small detal like that would likely prove to be helpful in the long-term as he investigated what took place in this secluded spot._

 _Stepping through the trees, the split just wide enough for him to fit through, as though the trees wanted him to find the person they were trying to protect, he closed his eyes for a minute and then forced them to open. At first glance, his brain went into overdrive as it sought to keep him from accepting the mind-numbing reality of what he was seeing. Every possible excuse was flying through his mind as he stared down at the body, unable to look away now that he was seeing it. Taking a step closer, his legs felt like Jell-O, unstable in their strides to get him there._

 _It was the outcome that he had feared since the moment he had received the call from Jim all those days ago, and it was the outcome that he was now trying so hard to avoid accepting as truth. The spirit, whoever it was, had killed his friend and the father of two young children. There was no denying what he was seeing, logically, but an illogical part of his brain was still scrambling for an alternative solution as he bent down to examine John's body and what was around it. Upon first looking at the body, there was nothing to indicate the trauma he must have gone through. His leather jacket was savagely torn in some places, but his body looked clean._

 _The blood that lay in various parts of the surrounding area was certainly John's blood, and that made Caleb's heart sink, and tears spring to his eyes. The hunter, as new as he was, was also stubborn as hell, and also capable of carrying himself through every situation possible. It was this situation, however, that proved to be his downfall. Wiping a hand down his face, Caleb held it there for a second and let himself feel the full weight of what was going on in his mind. For just a second, he let the tears fall down his face and the crushing awareness of what this would do to Dean, and to Sammy as he grew older._

 _They would never really know their father. Just fleeting memories in Dean's case, and the recollections of other people, in Sam's case. It was too cruel for Caleb to contemplate fully. This world had been too cruel and hard on those innocent children, and now they were about to know the fullness of a world that spared no mercy to the victims it sought with a vengeance. Caleb already knew that part of the world well. All he had to do was think about his pregnant wife, and the life they could have had if a demon had not broken into their home one night._

 _Turning his attention back to John, he grabbed his camera, and took a few steady shots of his body as it appeared. Once he was done after a minute, which was all the time he could bear to look at the body for that length of time, he ran his hands over his body, feeling nothing that immediately raised his attention. Taking a deep breath, he knew he had to go deeper in order to fully appreciate what he was dealing with._

 _Caleb felt sick to his stomach as he worked diligently, as though he was handling the finest piece of silver, to gently turn John over to inspect his back for any other injuries that might have been missed on the first look-through. It was there that Caleb began to understand the full burden of what he was dealing with. What had been missing on his front side, was clear on his back at first glance. Several deep slashes and gashes intersected with one another. The cuts had no real pattern to them. Just the appearance of anger and violence directed toward this man._

 _Noticing a particular cut that ran down from his back to his lower side, Caleb knew that what lay underneath his leather jacket, would prove crucial to what may have happened to him. Taking a second to take photos of his back, Caleb paused for a second, allowing himself to take a breather, before diving into the next phase of his examination process. The leather jacket had been full of mercy, allowing Caleb to operate under the illusion that the worst had been on John's back, but that did not prove to be the case. As he worked to get the jacket off, Caleb did not miss it when a few splatters of blood found its way onto his hands._

 _Sighing softly, shaking his head, he worked harder to get the jacket off. This was one of the worst attacks he had ever seen that had been done by a spirit. Bobby had not been lying when he said this one spirit was like a mother lion protecting her cubs. This attack was vicious, and entirely unforgiving to the hunter hunting this monster._

 _Taking in the full weight of what was underneath the jacket, proved to be harder than Caleb thought as his mind struggled to process what was right in front of him. Where his back had been full of gashes and scars, the front of him proved to be much the same thing, but with a slightly smaller degree of brutality. It was as though the attack had happened from behind, and had stalled when John went down. Of course, that was one theory Caleb had, but he knew the real story would likely be a little different._

 _Standing up once he was through with his examination, he once again took out his camera. It felt like an invasion of privacy to document such a brutal crime scene. Especially when it was his friend that was the victim of this murder. His hands, already shaken from the cold breeze, went numb as his fingers clicked the button. Blowing some warm air on his cold body parts, he tried to figure out what his next move should be. He needed to get the police involved. Even though he had no clue what he would say to them. And he needed to get back to Minnesots._

 _Retracing his steps back up the enormous cliff, Caleb could feel his heart breaking into tiny pieces as he imagined the conversation that would have to follow with Jim, and then with his two sons. Sam and Dean would be much too young to understand death in the way that it really was, but he also knew that these two boys had gone through something that no one should ever have to go through. Their experience with losing their mother, had already altered their percecption of the way the world worked._

 _Finding a payphone that was conveniently located right next to the cliff, he paused before depositing the change, and calling 911. As a hunter, he never liked to work with the law, because they could never really understand where hunters like him were coming from. They saw a crime before them, and they did not stop to think about the supernatural aspect of why a hunter was digging up a grave. He couldn't blame them, because until he finally believed the story about his wife's death, he had a hard time believing it, too._

 _Reporting this crime was proving to be as challenging as finding the actual body of his friend. Taking a deep breath, he tried his best to relay the information to the 911 dispatch, while trying to maintain a cool facade, but it was difficult. There was no guidebook on how to handle this, and that was very hard for Caleb to accept. Once he hung up, he leaned against the telephone box, and tried to focus on breathing. He could call Jim, but he knew he needed to be alone with his thoughts before he involved anyone else._

 _He supposed he should not have gone into the hunt thinking that he would find John alive. That had been a mistake. Whenever a hunter went missing in action, it was probable that they had met their end bloody. Just as John had. Caleb had lived through enough of those stories to know how likely it was that John had died, but he had not allowed himself to dwell on it if he could help it. That would not have helped his search, and even though the end result had been tragic, he still knew he couldn't have gone into the search with any different mindset._

 _When the police got there, he plastered on his best face, and played a part he knew by heart. When he had received his training in the life from Jim and Bobby, one of those training sessions had been talking to the police. There was a fine line between telling the truth, and altering the truth for his own protection. That was what he was doing now, as he directed them to the spot where his body was. Of course, he could never tell them that a spirit had murdered this man. They would think he was crazy, and possibly look at him as a suspect in the killing._

* * *

It was very difficult for Caleb to get that unusually cold morning out of his mind in the day that followed it. He had arrived in Minnesota much faster than he normally would have, thanks to the sudden though he had that he could arrive there much faster if he simply flew. He never liked to fly in planes if he could avoid it, only because it was much more hassle than it was worth, and because he couldn't very well smuggle an arsenal of weapons on the plane. But he knew that he had to get there, and he had to help Jim pick up the fractured pieces.

They had still not told Dean and Sam about the death of their father. In Dean's mind, he was thrilled that his uncle Caleb was there to vsit them. From the start, he had shared a special relationship with the toddler, enabling the small child to open up to him in ways that he never really did with any of the other adults in his life. There was no suspicion on his end that anything was wrong with his father, and Caleb wanted to keep it that way for awhile longer.

Sam, being only one, was much too little to know what the fuss was all about. He liked Caleb, and always laughed when Caleb would tickle or blow on his stomach, but he did not enough to be worried like his big brother always was. Their innocence was what Caleb was trying to keep hidden for as long as he could.

It was not easy, though.

Standing up with a sigh, he stretched out his sore back muscles, a product of sitting for too long as he studied the crime scene photographs, and went over to the over-used coffee maker. Sleep was an impossibility when he was as jumpy as he was from pouring over this deeply personal case. Dumping as much coffee as he could in his mug, he mixed in a liberal amount of cream and sugar, and returned to the table that was beginning to disappear under the mountain of paperwork he had to deal with.

The process for getting custody of John's body was almost as ridiculous as anything else he had to deal with on this case. The coroner was not done with his autopsy, and the police still haad more questions about what exactly had been found at the scene, and how Caleb was at the center of it all. He was used to questions like these. He had dealt with them his entire hunting career, but he was frustrated that he and Jim and Bobby had to wait in order to give John a proper send-off.

Looking down at the list of witnesses and numbers he still had to call, he palmed his face, and looked out the window that was behind him. The sun had long since set, and a peaceful night had taken its place. The only sound he heard, was the occasional car horn, or a barking dog. It was optimal time for research and study, but his mind had never felt so restless. Kicking back in his chair, he drank his coffee, and tried to settle himself before he resumed.

There was no room for error in this case. Caleb would not allow it.

"Caleb?"

Snapping his head up, he noticed Dean standing only a few feet from him. His small frame was partially hidden by the thin sheet of darkness that had fallen over the room. In an effort to minimize distractions, he had dimmed the lights, and shut off the electronics. So far, it had only increased the noise that was happening in his own heart.

"Hey, bud," Caleb said, smiling softly, as he motioned for Dean to come closer. Moving the pictures away so Dean would not be able to see them, he brought the small child into his lap. Dean was tired, he could tell, and fighting to stay awake. "What are you doing up?"

Dean shrugged, suppressing a yawn. "I couldn't sleep."

Caleb arched an eyebrow. "Why is that?"

"Because my eyes can't stay closed."

Dean was also so blunt. It made Caleb laugh to himself. For that moment, he was grateful for the distraction that Dean had provided. It was obvious to him that no amount of silence would be able to help him in his fruitless search for the answers he craved.

"Do you want me to tuck you back into bed?"

Dean thought about that answer for a minute, before nodding. "Yes."

Smiling softly, Caleb took Dean in his arms, and walked with the child across the kitchen, and through the living room to the stairs. It was a nice layout to the house that allowed him to move from one place to the next without a problem. Dean was content in his arms, laying his head on his shoulder, and playing with his shirt while they walked. His peace was palpable, and Caleb was relieved that he felt it.

Once they reached the second floor, Caleb knew right where to put him. Whenever they stayed with Jim, the pastor made sure to give them a room where they could be together. That was always where Dean felt safest, where he could be close to his brother to make sure nothing happened to him. Their bond was precious, and Caleb knew it would carry them both through the next few weeks, months, and years to come.

"Is Sammy sleeping?" Caleb asked, rubbing Dean's back.

Dean nodded. "He didn't want to."

"Why not?"

Dean thought for a minute. "Because he wanted to watch TV."

Caleb smiled. "He likes that, huh? Almost as much as _you_ do." He tapped Dean's nose.

"But my eyes are tired!" Dean stressed. "I can't keep them open."

Caleb laughed softly, as he walked down the hallway. It was mostly dark upstairs, except for the faint hallway light that Jim left on for the boys to feel safe. Their room was right next to his, which was a smart move. Walking into that room, Caleb softly laid Dean down on the bed, before teasingly throwing the blanket over his head. Dean laughed.

"You doing okay?" Caleb asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching as Dean righted himself to a comfortable position.

Dean nodded. "Yeah." There was something else on his mind, and Caleb knew it. "I miss Daddy." Dean was silent for a minute. "When is he coming back?"

Caleb paused before answering, and he hoped that Dean did not notice the quiet sigh that came from him before he could stop it. There was no real plan for when or how they should tell Dean about his father. Whenever the moment was right, or when Dean questioned them again about where his father was. Staring at that moment now, Caleb knew there wasn't a right way to tell a child that his last living parent had died.

Dean was only five, but he had managed to gain an understanding of death that no child his age should ever be able to understand. In a way, it helped Caleb with the enormity of what he was about to tell him. In another way, it opened the child up to a pain that he did not need to have on his shoulders.

Pulling Dean close, the child obediently slid out from the covers, and crawled into Caleb's lap, before leaning his head on his chest. It was clear that Dean understood that something was going on that he had not been privy to before. His heart was constricted in his chest as he tried to form the words to say to him.

"Dean? You know what heroes are, right?"

Dean nodded slowly. "They take out the bad guys."

Caleb nodded, holding Dean tighter. "That's right. And that's what your Dad was. A hero."

"He took out bad guys?" Dean whispered, completely awestruck at the image it presented.

"That's exactly what he did." Caleb took a deep breath. Here went nothing. "But sometimes, the heroes get wounded in battle."

Dean turned over his words in his mind. "What does that mean?"

"It means they get a big owie," Caleb explained.

"Did Daddy get an owie?" Dean whispered, almost as though he was afraid to speak louder.

"Yes." Caleb rubbed Dean's back comfortingly, knowing he would need all the comfort in the world in the next few moments. "And sometimes, those big owies can't be helped."

"Why?"

"Well, because sometimes their body just can't keep fighting anymore. Sometimes it wants to go to sleep and go to Heaven."

Dean fell silent for a minute. "Is Daddy...in Heaven? With Mommy?"

Caleb nodded. "Yes, Dean. He is. I'm so sorry."

There were not enough words in the world to communicate how sorry he was that he had to be the one to tell Dean that his father was gone, and that his father was no longer with them. It was a cruel thing for the small boy to have to go through, and Caleb felt an overwhelming anger at the world for what it had done to Dean and Sam. They did not deserve this fate. Not at all.

Once Dean's silence had stretched into several minutes, Caleb gently looked down at the boy that was still resting against his chest. Dean was not saying anything, but his eyes were full of tears that he was afraid to shed. In that instance, Caleb's heart broke for him. He had been taught by his father to put his emotions on lockdown, to not do anything that would put his safety, or Sam's safety at risk, and now he was doing the same thing.

Kissing the top of his head, Caleb let Dean know as much as he could without words, that it was okay to cry and feel the emotions that he was feeling. It was a natural thing, and Caleb hoped that Dean would soon realize that before he completely exploded.

"Sammy," Dean said, his voice breaking, even though he was holding onto his composure with a razor-like grasp. "He won't know Daddy."

Caleb shook his head, completely astonished at Dean's ability to put his own self last. His own heart was broken for his loss, but his first verbal thought was for his brother. In a big way, it reminded Caleb of his own love for his brother, and the way he would defend him to the moon and back if it came to it.

"He'll know him, Dean. He _will_."

"How?" Dean looked up at him.

"Through our memories of him. Through _your_ memories of him, bud."

Dean considered that for a second. "Can you stay with me tonight?"

Caleb nodded resolutely. "You bet.

* * *

 _ **AN:**_

 _I swore to myself I would not give up on this story and delete it. Even though I went through weeks of writers block, I finally got it done. YAY! Sometimes when trying to write a chapter, I go to write a sentence, and it's like a big wall is in front of me. That's what it feels like to have writer's block and trying to push through the wall is nearly impossible sometimes. Anyway, here is the new chapter!_


	8. Chapter 8

Grief through the eyes of a child was a strangely fascinating, but tragic thing to bear witness to. Some asked questions, that was normal for a curious, naturally eager child, some were silent, asking little, but observing and absorbing everything that went on around them. In part, that was due to their complete inability to voice what was going on in their still-developing minds. In another way, some were simply too traumatized to say anything. A prison of their own minds as they processed their emotions, the emotions of the ones in charge of their care, and the world around them.

Jim Murphy had seen both sides to the complicated way children endured and processed through grief. It was never easy to assist families in counseling their children, and help them pick up the fractured pieces of their lives. Try as he might to reach the little ones he had been entrusted to, it was often hard to guess what they were thinking. Especially when they were withdrawn, content to play with the toys in his office, and distract themselves from the very real pain they were going through. A pain that was so hard for the adults to crack through.

The pastor assumed (because he had dealt with these kinds of tragedies before), that he would be able to offer a unique perspective to what Sam and Dean were going through. Or more accurately, Dean. The child was completely devastated by the death of his father, but he would never voice it to the people around him. The kind of devastation he was dealing with, was not invisible to the guys, and Jim's heart ached for the child as he witnessed him trying his hardest to tighten the shield around his heart. That was the only way he figured he would survive, and Jim hated it for him. Observing Dean interact (mainly) with Sam and Caleb, Jim recognized the kind of way Dean was allowing his grief to push through.

Dean was one of the quiet ones. The kind of child who never outwardly expressed what was happening in his heart, but instead let it all play out behind the scenes. His heart, Jim figured, must have been a battle ground that was quickly losing the war. He hardly ever spoke, except to inquire about Sam's care, and when the grown-ups talked directly to him. Caleb was the only one who seemed able to push Dean out of the shell he had concocted around himself. Dean's steely composure was not often tested, but sometimes, Jim could see just a sliver of emotion cross his face when he thought no one was watching.

It was heartbreaking to watch a normally outgoing kid, retreat further back into the protective shell he had placed around himself when his mother first died. It was hard to watch him regress backwards.

"When…is…daddy coming back?" Dean asked, one afternoon. It had been a few weeks since John had been found, and while Dean had been making slow improvements in his grief process, it was still a daily struggle for the five-year-old. He and Jim had been playing a game with Sam, a messy one that ended up requiring the cleanup assistance of Sam's big brother.

Jim stopped mid-scoop, the markers swaying unstably in his hand, begging to be let down. Jim had prepared himself to answer a myriad of questions from Dean about the death of his father, but he somehow never thought to prepare himself for _this_ type of question. Sighing softly, he put the markers back in their box, and invited Dean to sit on his lap.

"Dean, do you remember the talk Caleb had with you about your Dad?"

Dean nodded. "Yes…but he's coming back." His voice suddenly grew quiet, almost a whisper. "He always comes back." In Dean's mind, that statement made perfect sense, because his father had never let him down before. "Not like Mommy. Mommy had to go to Heaven…but not Daddy."

Jim nodded slowly, craning his head over Dean's to capture his reluctant gaze. "Dean, you know that your Dad never _ever_ wanted to leave you, right?"

Dean nodded, this time with more vigor. "So when is he coming back?" Dean suddenly seemed to have a thought cross his mind. "I can tell him I took care of Sammy."

Looking over his shoulder when he heard another set of shoes, he caught Caleb's gaze in his. He had no idea how long the hunter had been standing there, but judging from the pained look on Caleb's face, he had been standing there long enough to know the gist of the conversation. Beckoning him over, hoping that the bond between Caleb and Dean would aid him in this conversation, he watched as Dean's face lit up when he saw who was getting down beside him. It seemed that Dean was only truly comfortable with him and Caleb.

Switching Dean over to Caleb's lap, Dean went more than willingly. Snuggling up with the hunter, Dean absently played with Caleb's thick watch, and tried to understand what the adults were saying to him. Jim could see the wheels spinning in his brain, trying to understand why they were talking to him like they were.

"What did your Dad say to you when your Mom died?" Caleb asked, gently lacing his fingers through Dean's hair. It was touching to see the tenderness that existed between the two of them, and Jim was extremely grateful that he had someone like Caleb, who Dean adored, to help him.

Dean scrunched up his nose, remembering that conversation that seemed so distant, but also strangely close. There wasn't a lot he could recall from that night. Just the uncomfortable heat, and his brother being pushed into his arms by his scared father. "He said a monster got Mommy. A scary one."

Caleb nodded, still threading his fingers through Dean's hair. "What if I told you that something scary…got your Dad, too?" He knew he was pushing a fine line between what was acceptable to say to a child, but he also knew that Dean was unlike most five-year-olds, and was capable of understanding more.

"But then…I would not have a Mommy… _or_ a Daddy." It seemed inconceivable to the child that he would not have any parent in the world to watch out for him. He knew kids sometimes lost their mother or their father, but he had never heard of someone losing _both_ their parents.

Jim was silent, searching his brain for a way to respond to that kind of statement. "But you have us, Dean. You have me, Caleb, and Bobby. You know that we love you with all our hearts, right?"

Dean nodded, his hand traveling down to Caleb's, needing the physical comfort more than anything at the moment. He had no idea why his heart was pounding the way it was, or why his head was bursting with a silent scream that he begged to stop. All that he knew was that he could feel the tears pressing on his eyes, and he wanted it to stop. He wanted to be brave, strong like his father.

"I know," he whispered, not able to stop a single tear that traversed down his cheek, and slid into his mouth.

"You'll never be alone, bud," Caleb assured him. "You have us. Forever." If there was one thing he could promise the child, it would have to be that he would always have a family to keep him safe and to love him. His new family would not be blood related, but that mattered little in the grand scheme of things.

Dean's eyes widened, seemingly able to momentarily shake off his pain. "I _do_?"

"What did you think?" Jim teased, relishing the light-hearted moment that had suddenly taken form. "Did you think we would ever let your brother and you out of our sight?"

"Get real," Caleb finished.

Dean was quiet for several minutes as he processed the plethora of information he had just received. For many children, it would be too much, but for his age, Dean had seen way much more than he should have. As it was, Jim could see a slow but also marked change in Dean's demeanor after their impromptu talk. He had no clue if Dean understood the finality of what happened to his father, but he also knew that Dean was in a much better headspace than he had been before.

Getting up once Dean had bounced off to the kitchen with Caleb trailing behind him, Jim picked up a thoroughly confused Sam, and finished putting the toys away. Sam was happy, as was his usual state, and only seemed to have eyes for his big brother. Situating him in his booster seat at the table, Jim watched Caleb make hotdogs and mac 'n cheese for the eager boys. If there was one thing that was not lacking, it was Dean's healthy appetite for anything edible. Trying to take his mind off anything that could wait until later, Jim watched Dean share some of his food with Sam, who seemed to take no interest in his own meal, even though it was the exact same thing.

Truthfully, Jim had no idea how they were going to go protecting Sam and Dean. He knew he could raise them with Caleb and Bobby's help, but there was also the added stress of knowing what most normal people did not. No matter where they were, the supernatural would follow. Jim knew that from dear experience, when he briefly tried to leave the life. There was no escaping something like that, and he wondered how they would raise two boys in the life.

Would they stay? Would they go on the road like most hunters did? And how would they even go about getting custody of them? There was only so much luck they could run on before it ran out. Jim knew that the day would come when someone in a position of power, would wonder about Sam and Dean, and where their father, John Winchester was.

* * *

Jim's heart swelled every time he noticed a spark of the old Dean start to return, and that was happening more often than not. It had only been a few days since his and Caleb's talk with Dean, and he was starting to have a vague hope that Dean would not be trapped in a perpetual depression for the rest of his life. He had moments where he retreated back, became distant again, but Jim was pleased to see that Dean was starting to take an interest in things again. Especially when it came to renovating a guest bedroom that would be his and Sam's room.

Jim had debated whether or not to give Sam and Dean their own room, and had come to the logical conclusion that Dean would not want to be separated from his brother for any reason. Especially when they were both still getting used to their new normal. No longer were they being moved from one motel room to the next, but they actually had a permanent residence to call home. With that thrilling thought taking root in his mind, Dean was more than happy to assist Caleb with the decorating.

"Batman is the _best_ ," Dean stated one afternoon, as he walked into the freshly painted bedroom, wrinkling his nose in distaste of the smell, as he looked up at Caleb as he put together a floating bookshelf on the wall.

"Indeed he is," Caleb agreed. "Not like those puny other superheroes."

Dean shook his head. "Nah. Batman would kick the other's butts!"

Caleb stifled a laugh as he put down his tools. "Are you excited to go see Uncle Bobby tomorrow?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

It had been agreed that the boys would spend the weekend with Bobby since both Caleb and Jim had work and hunting commitments up on the plate at the same time.

"Are you going to play hide and seek with the cars?"

Caleb had more than a few concerns about the maze of beaten up cars Bobby had in his lot. Beside the obvious danger of the boys getting lost, there was also the possibility of them getting cut on something, and not to mention the infection that could spread. It amazed Caleb that he was already thinking like a parent would.

"Yeah. I have to teach Sammy."

"You do that."

Dean had been so depressed that it was nice seeing an actual smile grace his face at the thought of going to Bobby's, and teaching his brother something new.

With a grin, Caleb fingered a small bit of blue paint and dabbed it on Dean's nose. "Now _you_ look like Batman."

"I do," Dean smiled. "If I had a cape, I could be just like him."

Caleb shook his head in amusement. "You look pretty authentic to me."

"That's because you're _supposed_ to say that," Dean reminded him.

Putting his tools back in their proper place, Caleb watched Dean carefully inspect them. He had taken an interest in putting things together after watching Caleb do the same thing for his room. Nodding his head when Dean silently asked if he could hold a hammer, Caleb showed him the correct way to hold it. The child's mind was like a sponge that was constantly taking in the information he was given. Now that he was beginning to recover a little from the trauma of losing John, his personality was starting to emerge.

Carefully handing Dean a nail to go along with the hammer, Caleb stood beside him and watched as he tentatively pounded the nail into the wall on Sam's side of the room. Sam's side had a crib, and plenty of toys that had been taken from the living room. Beyond that, he also had a fresh coat of paint, and a new oval rug with his favorite cartoon on it. Dean's side was similar, and also bore evidence of his favorite show. It was touching to see Dean take great pride in his room.

"You got it in good," Caleb said, assessing Dean's work.

"You think?" Dean stood back, critically evaluating whether that was true.

"Yes," Caleb said, smiling. "Don't you worry."

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "I just want Sammy to like it."

Caleb rubbed his back. "He _will_."

Snapping his head toward the door when he heard the doorbell ring from downstairs, he and Dean traded glances, before making their way down the hall, and down the stairs. They weren't expecting anyone, and Jim wasn't due back from work for another few hours. Even though he could guess this was nothing to do with the supernatural, Caleb could still feel the tension in his body as he went to the door.

Taking a deep breath, he opened it. A young woman stood waiting for him.

"Are you Caleb Rivers?"

Caleb nodded slowly. "Yes…and who are you?"

"I'm Laura, I'm from Minnesota Child Protective Services. We have some questions."

* * *

 _Uh-oh_


	9. Chapter 9

The woman, Laura, stood waiting patiently at the door, lifting her eyebrow as though wondering if the man standing in front of her was going to let her in or not. She was not surprised by this kind of reaction: She had encountered worse in her line of work, especially from the ones who had something to hide, or to feel guilty about. From her limited perspective, and the few seconds she had known Caleb, she did not have the feeling he was hiding something. Maybe just an overprotective type that worried what her questions would unearth. Craning her head to look at the little boy that was standing stoic next to Caleb Rivers, she tried to greet him with a smile, but it was clear the boy was having none of it.

Little boys like that, was the entire reason why she had gotten into the line of work she had gotten into. From handling simple cases that needed only a short investigation, to the longer ones that often left emotional scars on both her and the children she was entrusted with, she kept herself going with the truth that she was doing it for the children. The children she met, was the entire reason why she had the job that she did. More than probably, she would be happier working in pediatrics or something of the like, but she could not shake that feeling that she had to do this job to protect the kids.

It was always about the kids. Doing a mental check of the boy, there seemed to be nothing wrong with him on the outside. It was what was on the inside that raised her attention. He seemed guarded in a way that most five-year-old's never were. Besides that, he kept a close eye on the man standing in front of him. However, his attention was also on the baby monitor that was standing on an end table. When she listened, she could hear the sounds of a baby babbling to himself. Not able to contain the warm grin that spread across her face, she tried to maintain a professional distance.

Redirecting her attention to their guardian, she tried to get a sense of what she was dealing with, but could not. He was either very good at handling his emotions and pushing them down so that they could not be detected, or he was trying to hide something from her that he did not want her to have. Taking a slow breath, she mentally reminded herself not to judge a book by its cover. From what this man was showing her, he could simply be terrified of losing the two boys who were in his care. Deciding to go with that until she had a stronger case to prove otherwise, she tried to show him the benefit of the doubt.

The man that she was tasked with interviewing, however, showed no indication that he was willing to let her off the hook so easily. In some way, it seemed that he had been expecting her visit from the way he bowed his head in silent defeat, before raising it quickly to gauge her reaction to him. Standing aside, he wordlessly let her know to come in. When she stepped in, the boy immediately withdrew to make sure he was right with Caleb. Looking around the living room, she saw nothing out of the ordinary. On the contrary, it looked like a beautiful family home. It was neat, but with a typical disorganization that came with having small children.

Following him into the kitchen that was situated right off the living room, she glanced around the kitchen, before settling in the seat that Caleb showed to her. The little boy, who she guessed was Dean, hesitated for a brief moment, before settling into a seat next to Caleb. It was clear to her that Dean had already developed a thick attachment to the man who he was clinging to. Making a note of it in her notebook that she had with her, she sighed deeply as she reviewed her list of questions. These types of questions were hard, and made her second-guess her decision to have this career in the first place.

Caleb, it seemed was ready for whatever questions she had to throw at him. It was this type of confidence that made her suspicious, but she shoved those feelings down as much as she could. She had gotten into this career to _help_ families, not tear them apart without need. It was that careful distinction that she had tried her hardest to govern herself by. It was not always easy, and her feelings could not always be counted on to be kept in check. Looking around the kitchen, she saw evidence of a recent meal that seemed to have been for the children.

Details like that mattered. More than most people realized. Glancing further, she saw children's artwork on the fridge. A messy series of circles and dots, indicated that the younger of the two boys had been the artist. The other picture, was neater and bore the classic sign of a child's favorite superhero.

"As you know, I'm Laura Wilden. I'm from Minnesota Child Protective Services."

Caleb nodded. "I know."

Laura smiled. "And you are Caleb Rivers, correct?"

Caleb sighed deeply. "Yes."

Laura reviewed her notes. The call (and the details that followed), had all come from an anonymous caller. It was hard to know, in her line of work, what was true, and what was a complete fabrication. "Are you the sole occupant of this home?"

"No. Uh, Jim Murphy? He lives here, too."

Laura nodded. "And what does he do? And what do you do?"

Caleb shifted in his seat, his eyes shifting every so often to Dean. "He's the pastor of our church here. I, uh, I own a shop." It was clear from his answer, that he did not want to elaborate on what kind of "shop" he owned. Making a note of that, she went down the list in front of her.

"So tell me: How do you know Sam and Dean?" Form the information she received from her supervisor, the men in the home, were friends of the recently deceased John Winchester.

"They belong to our friend, John Winchester. He's-"

"We know that he's deceased," Laura interjected. "A few weeks ago, right?"

"We haven't been able to establish a timeline for his death." For the first time, something other than his own locked down emotions, came out. For the first time, she could detect a fair amount of pain in his voice for his lost friend.

It was always easier to do her job when she was able to develop a tentative rapport with the person she was questioning. Some of the people she had the chance to talk with over the years, were easy to get along with. On the other hand, she had dealt with plenty of people who had the exact same type of attitude that Caleb was displaying to her. More often than not, their reactions could be owed to the fact they were nervous about having her in their home.

She could understand that.

"Did he often leave Sam and Dean with you and Jim Murphy?"

Caleb shrugged, starting to loosen up a little. "He did it when he had no other alternative."

"Which was how often?"

"I can't really tell you."

The next section she had to go over, was often the part she disliked doing the most. It was this section that dealt specifically with those who did not have a blood relative, and were instead relying on the kindness of their friends to take care of them. In the world they lived in, it was not uncommon for a friend to gain custody of the children. However, Laura knew that a judge would prefer to place the children with someone who was a blood relative of theirs. Glancing at Dean, she was met with a gaze that seemed much too adult for someone so young.

It made her wonder what he had experienced during his brief time on earth. From her records, she knew their mother had died in a fire that had been ruled a household accident, and then their father had gone off the grid, living in motel rooms for most of his time after his wife died. It seemed, from looking around, that this was the first stable home they had in quite awhile.

"I'm sorry to ask this, but do Sam and Dean have any relatives in the picture?"

Caleb looked taken aback at her question. "Who made this call to you guys?"

Laura smiled tightly. "I can't give that information to you. It's confidential."

"I see." Caleb stretched in his chair, before rubbing Dean's back in comforting, circular sweeps. "No, they don't."

"No one?"

"Their father's parents are deceased, and he never mentioned anything about Mary's family. I couldn't even tell you where they lived."

That was not unusual in and of itself-it just made her job a little more complicated than she would have liked. Writing down her notes before moving on to the next line of questioning, she could hear more fussing coming from the baby monitor. It sounded like Sam had gone from passive babbling, to full-on insistence that he be gotten up. Conscious of that delicate time-frame they were now operating on, she moved on.

"You and Jim Murphy would be the ones who would assume sole custody of Sam and Dean Winchester?"

Caleb nodded. "That's right. How would we go about that?"

"You would formally submit your request before the hearing. A hearing has been set for the 29th of this month. During that hearing, the judge is only interested in hearing what makes you suitable guardians. Nothing else. And usually, if a decision cannot be reached, the judge will just allow the boys to remain with you. Unless there's a good reason why not."

Caleb nodded slowly. "Do I need a lawyer?"

Laura nodded. "I would advise it. Not because you've done anything wrong, but for security."

* * *

"Uncle" Bobby's eccentric home in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, was as unusual a house as any normal visitor would ever see: Books on hunting lore stacked to the ceiling, multiple phone lines in the kitchen that ran a constant line of communication between he and any other person that needed his expert help. Caleb and Jim had brought Sam and Dean there after a visit from a nosy CPS worker. It boggled Bobby's mind, the kinds of things that were happening to Caleb and Jim.

"Uncle Bobby?" Dean asked, as he ambled over to Bobby, and perched himself on his worn couch. "What's this book?"

He innocently held out a thick volume that dealt with the supernatural world's most dangerous and feared creature, the hellhound. Capable of tearing a person to shreds without barely blinking.

"That," Bobby said, reaching for the book and putting it safely out of Dean's curious hands. "Is a very special book for grown ups."

"Why?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Because there are some things a snot nosed little brat like yourself can't look at right now," Bobby said teasingly. "In time, though," he added, seeing Dean's little face fall in disappointment.

"Can I teach Sammy how to play hide and go seek?"

"I think that would be a great idea," Bobby agreed. "Just be careful, make sure he doesn't go near those stairs."

"Okay."

Having the boys playing quietly while he made return calls to contacts, all the while preparing dinner for them, was nice. He never entirely stopped worrying about them, but childproofing the house as much as possible, went a long ways in easing his anxiety about it.

"Sammy fell," Dean said, his little feet clattering across the wood flooring as he held Sam's tearful hand. "He tripped on the floor," he added, looking resentfully at Bobby, as though Bobby should have known about the floor and fixed it.

"Let me see," Bobby said, kneeling down in front of the one year old and checking his leg for injuries. "Well, Dean, it looks like he just scraped it. He's lucky."

A Dinosaur bandage later, and some juice, and Sam was happily eating his fries and burger that Bobby had cut up for him. Dean, of course, hadn't let go of his brother's injury and kept checking him anxiously, as though he was afraid Sam would suddenly disappear.

"Can you fix the floor tonight?" He inquired when dinner was over, and Bobby was preparing them for their evening baths.

"I'll do my best."

Bath time was the usual fun affair, as Sam made every opportunity to splash his way out of the tub. Bedtime was slower, more quieter as Bobby went about a familiar routine he had established with the boys before John had died, and read to them, before leaving one light on for their security, and turning the rest off.

"Goodnight," Dean slurred, already half asleep, as he rolled over on his side, clutching his own pillow tightly to his chest.

"Goodnight, idjit," Bobby replied, with a rare smile on his face, before softly shutting the door behind him.

It had been a few days since Jim and Caleb had dropped the boys off, and needless to say, those two boys had exhausted Bobby. He was used to working at all hours of the night to satisfy the demands and needs of the people he helped, but being responsible for the lives of two toddlers, was another thing.

Of course Caleb and Jim had called twice, maybe three times a day to check in on the boys, and Bobby couldn't blame them. Losing John had been a shock to all of them, and none of them were eager to repeat the experience over again.

"Hello?" He grumbled into the phone when it rang off the hook, assuming of course that it was one of the guys checking in again. He was beginning to wonder if they trusted him with the boys.

"Bobby?"

"Rufus?" He adjusted the phone deeper into the crook of his shoulder. He and Rufus Turner had been friends long before he knew John, Caleb or Jim. The two hadn't talked in years, not since an accident where someone Rufus had loved, had died.

"You told me to keep you posted on things, and call if I needed help. I don't need help, per se, but I found something that might interest you."

"And what's that?"

He wasn't in the mood to hear about his crazy ramblings and theories. He was thrilled to hear from his friend, but not at the cost of his sanity and whatever sleep he could be enjoying.

"Some crazy ! #$%^&* storms up here, Bobby, electrical shortages, some fires in family style homes."

Bobby felt his blood run cold, and not from the faulty furnace that he needed to fix. "Say that again."

"I recognized the signs, and I remembered hearing that John Winchester had been killed a few weeks ago. I put two and two together-"

"Congratulations, you learned math," Bobby murmured dryly. "Now get to the part that was so important you had to call me at ten at night."

"I heard about some cops who were mass-possessed." Rufus paused, and Bobby swore it was for dramatics sake. "In the same area John died in."


End file.
